


The Other Half

by avatarlahey



Series: Make It To Me verse [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Closer You and I, Fluff and Angst, Growing Up, M/M, Make It To Me verse, fair warning-mentions of a traumatic accident is involved, once again all the AUs, some allusions to homophobia but its a blink of it, there is also singing because its not my fic if no music is involved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 06:28:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 28,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4049692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avatarlahey/pseuds/avatarlahey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry wakes up and the world is a bit different. He doesn't know much about anything anymore. The only truth he knows is Louis, and that should be enough. A story told through images of the past and present. </p><p>The sequel to Closer You and I.</p><p>Featuring their three best friends: Niall is a struggling musician with an affinity for Beiber covers, currently gearing up for the greatest adventure of his life. Liam is a constantly sleep deprived doctor-to-be, while his boyfriend Zayn may or may not be part of an underground graffiti crew. Together, they help Harry put together the pieces of his life.</p><p>“That’s kind of what souls do, huh? Fate either pushes or pulls, but in the end they find a way to each other—even through darkness.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel!! If you haven't read it, or need some catching up, you should probably go and read it [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3521906/chapters/7745456)! 
> 
> Wow, I am still so shocked by all the support from Closer You and I.  
> I didn't think I would ever write a sequel to this, but in the end I think it's important to continue their story after Harry wakes up. Reality is tough, and there was a lot that needed to be dealt with, and so many pieces to put together, so it was kind of a no brainer.
> 
> This fic is dedicated to those who kindly asked. Also, thank you to my best friend and other half, Kate, for being my editor and allowing me to take inspiration from her personal life. She is a very strong person for all that she has been through! Special thanks to [Katt](http://www.the--tomlinsons.tumblr.com) for being my personal cheerleader and a wonderful wonderful human being. (insert Harry dancing to Girl Almighty gif here)
> 
> Lastly, I would like to give a fair warning about the fic. Harry has just been in a car accident, so the allusions to slight ptsd, depictions of hospitals and the accident may be triggering. Please be wary if this may affect you. 
> 
> If you like listening to music as you read, I've hidden links again. :)  
> Enjoy! xx

**Part One**

_“What if you slept_   
_And what if_   
_In your sleep_   
_You dreamed_   
_And what if_   
_In your dream_   
_You went to heaven_   
_And there plucked a strange and beautiful flower_   
_And what if_   
_When you awoke_   
_You had that flower in your hand_   
_Ah, what then?”_

***

A boy wakes up and sees nothing but white. An aching pain reverberates in his skull, throbbing endlessly as he stumbles onto his legs.

He stretches one arm out, and then the other, feeling as if the limbs attached to him are not his own, feeling a sense of rebirth, like he has been given a new life.

Surprisingly, his first inclination isn’t to scream into the vast whiteness in pure frustration, to relinquish the pain in his head. Instead, there is calm that blankets him, a calm that stems from a subtle sense of belonging. And amidst the buzzing in his skull, a feeling of confusion begins to bloom incessantly inside him. _What happened? Where am I?_ If anything, he wants answers.

Then, suddenly, he hears a breath that’s not his own. He turns and sees the bluest of eyes, deeper than the sky and the sea. Like magic, the aching in his head clears, cleansed by the breathtaking boy that stands in front of him.

 _It’s you_ , he thinks. And he manages to say:

“Hello, Louis.”

Yes, _Louis_. The name settles on his lips with a comforting familiarity.

And the blue eyed boy replies, softly and painfully yearning:

_“Harry.”_

And in the expanse of the blinding white, Harry is not sure how, but there’s an immensely powerful feeling that here, with Louis, he’s home.

 

____

 

Right now, Harry is sitting on their flat’s lumpy couch with Niall towering over him—massaging Harry’s face.

This is normal.

“Stop touching my face, Niall,” Harry grumbles.

Nevertheless, Niall continues with an astounded expression plastered on his face. Louis, on the other hand, sits with crossed arms, glaring at Niall.

“Are you deaf, Niall?” Louis says with an exasperated sigh. But he’s endeared, Harry can tell.

“Just let me touch you, Harry.”

“Niiiiii-yulllllll!” Louis whines, swatting Niall’s hands away.

“What?” Niall says defensively. “I just need to make sure Harry’s real!”

“For fuck’s sake, it’s been a long while, hasn’t it?”

Niall pulls a funny face at Louis, and it doesn’t take long for Harry’s frown to break, a wide grin stretching from cheek to cheek. This is routine, after all. For example, _here_ , Harry and Louis will sit, staring lovingly—yes, _lovingly_ , Harry would like to stress. They’re very much in love, him and Louis—into each other’s eyes, chatting about their day when, here, Niall will sweep in, silently or quite obnoxiously depending on his mood, and just touch Harry’s face.

Just touch. His face.

But Louis is right; he always is. It _has_ been quite some time since he and Louis reunited. In the real world, at least. Almost two months to the day, to be exact. The memory is one that Harry holds dear to his heart, and every time his gaze becomes lost on Louis, he _remembers_. The way Louis looked when Harry called out his name. The feeling of their eyes meeting for the first time. The sensation of their bodies connecting. The unsaid desire passing between them: _let’s stay like this forever._

Seeing Louis for the first time? That, Harry believes, is when he truly awoke.

And ever since then, it’s been non-stop. First, there was introducing Louis and Company to his concerned family. He’ll never forget the proud swelling of his heart as he came into the kitchen, Louis in tow, and saying firmly: _Mum, Gem...this is the one. This is Louis Tomlinson._ His mum bursted into tears, running to meet Louis halfway in what was a bone-crushing hug, murmuring, _I can’t believe it’s you._

“We’re old friends. Your mum and me,” Louis had said, a softness in his eyes as he met Harry’s perplexed stare.

Apparently, they had met in the hospital before Louis found out about Harry’s accident, before his mum knew that Louis was the key to everything.

Funny how fate works.

Secondly, there was the whole _‘I have you now and I’m never leaving your side so how do we move forward?’_ ordeal. It was quick, the piecing together of him and Louis’ life, almost like a lightning storm of _this_ and _oh, this!_ and _we can do that_!

“Well, I was in my last year of uni when it happened and—”

“So was I!  But you knew that! Obviously! Anyway, keep going!”

“I attended...Leeds Beckett! Right, mum?”

“Louis, that school is _minutes_ away from us. Holy—”

“Yes, Liam, I know that!”

It derailed Harry for a moment when he realized just how close they were. The sights that Louis had so fondly talked about in their dreams were places Harry had been to, too. They shared the same world, and for some reason, the world waited till now to bring them together.

“Move in with me.”

And that was that. It just kind of happened.

Third, there was the—what Niall has dubbed—‘The Niall Is Going To Borrow Zayn and Liam’s Flat When They Go On Vacation So These Two Knobheads Can Properly Celebrate While I Keep My Dignity Intact” period.  

It was two wonderful weeks of making up for lost time (He will spare the details, because some things are just meant to be kept in the bedroom...and the kitchen, and the shower, and the couch, and okay, fine. Niall’s room. Once.).

And now...well now they’re here. It’s mid august, and sadly, summer is winding down. Louis’ successful run as Tony in West Side Story is coming to a close and Harry is in the storm of trying to figure out his future. It’s chaotic and difficult at times, but hey, they’re here and alive and in love. Him, Louis...and Niall.

“Just one little poke of his dimples, that’s all I want,” Niall says, elbowing Louis, who is on his tippy toes, struggling to pry Niall’s hands off of Harry.

“Over my dead body, Horan!” Louis growls in a not so menacing way, yanking at Niall’s blonde hair.

Niall crumbles to the ground with a high pitched yelp, clutching his scalp.

“Jesus, shit, mate. You know I’m sensitive there,” Niall moans, while Louis towers over him, dusting his hands as if he’d just slain Hector in battle.

“I know you are,” Louis says with a smirk. “What with all the up keeping of your painfully obvious dyed hair.”

Niall’s eyes widen. “Fuck you! Harry was never supposed to know!”

“You’re a fraud, Niall Horan!” Louis screeches as Niall tackles him to the ground.

Moments like this occur weekly—no, _daily_. Harry usually finds himself sitting back as he fondly watches Louis and his friends go at it, bantering back and forth until one of them ends up in a chokehold. He would join, but it all kind of happens too quickly for Harry. It’s chaotic and difficult at times, but he’s still adjusting.

_“What the hell is going on?”_

Standing at the door is Liam and Zayn dressed in their work clothes, and with faces that project another strenuous day at the office.

“Fighting again?” Zayn wonders aloud as he casually takes a seat opposite of Harry.

“Niall was touching Harry again,” Louis grumbles, crawling back to his spot next to Harry. Harry immediately envelops Louis into his arms, and Louis sighs. “It had to be done.”

“When are you going to get over it, Ni?” Liam says, as he tosses his bag to the side and plops next to Zayn. He’s just started his time in the Foundation Programme, properly working at some hospital. He often visits their flat with tired eyes and aching bones, but Louis says he enjoys it. Liam’s been a hard worker since he left the womb, apparently.

Zayn, on the other hand, currently works for the library in an office that is "smaller than Niall's filter." There, he assists in research services, serving the library and all of its constituents.

"You're finally the sexy librarian of Liam's dirty dreams," Louis had said when he got the job.

"A liaison, Louis, _please_."

It's not Zayn's dream job, but merely a means of funding his various creative endeavors. He's also a part of an underground graffiti crew. Very hardcore and only sexy people allowed. Well, that's what Louis says, at least.

"I'm not sure _I'm_ over it," Zayn scoffs, turning to acknowledge Harry.

Harry cheeks grow hot under Zayn's observant gaze. Being subject to Zayn, Liam, and Niall's constant prodding and utter disbelief makes him feel like an experiment behind a glass wall sometimes.

"Like, this is the guy who's been living in Louis' head, and suddenly he's sitting right there," Zayn continues, expressing words that have been repeated over and over again. "It blows my mind."

Harry is thankful for the boys—they found him, after all. But that’s it, isn’t it? They _found_ Louis’ boyfriend. They found him, but they don’t _know_ him.

It’s been almost two months to the day, and he’s still a mystery to Louis’ friends.

“Speaking of blowing minds,” Niall says from his splayed position on the carpeted floor, “Tommo, will you be joining us after your show tonight? Havin’ a few drink after my mind-blowing gig with these lads.” He gestures to Zayn and Liam, the pair looking slightly unaware of the fact that there was such an event happening tonight.

They shrug it off, anyway.

Harry’s been to two or three of Niall’s performances at the same swanky bar. He’s very talented in that he knows how to get the crowd going, an excellent showman and guitarist. Niall’s love for whatever he chooses to do is insanely infectious, and Harry supposes that’s mindblowing.

“Y’know I’m always up for an endless night of Beiber covers ( _“It’s not just Beiber, Louis.”_ ), but it has to be an early night for me,” Louis says, tipping his head upward so that his blue eyes meets Harry’s. Harry smiles under the softness of Louis’ gaze, the one that has the ultimate power to weaken him at any moment.

The past few weeks have been non-stop for Louis, what with his short stint at the Leeds Grand Theatre. From constant rehearsals to performances, Louis has been in and out of the house like a blur. But he’s been phenomenal, a breath of fresh air, more talent than Harry had ever expected. He’s been to every single show, so nobody can argue otherwise. Louis has worked so hard, always feeling like he has to prove himself with every show, so it’s nice to have him come home to Harry every night.

Louis reaches up to pat Harry’s cheek, breaking his thoughts. “Harry has a check-up in the morning, so we want to get that done before my calltime.”

And there’s that.

Harry looks up just in time to see the flash of  disappointment in Niall’s eyes before he musters a small smile. He also steals a glance at Zayn and Liam, and even their expressions mirror Niall’s, obviously disappointed that Louis won’t be joining them tonight.

 _They hate him._ Harry feels it deep inside his bones. They’re constantly thinking, who is this strange man and why is he holding Louis captive? _This_ is the guy Louis’ been dreaming about?

Maybe it’s all in his head, but the idea still hurts Harry. He’s fond of every single one of them, especially Niall, he lives with him after all. Yet, he doesn’t blame them. Harry waltzed right in when the four of them had such a wonderful connection going.

It’s too much to think about sometimes. He needs to apart of Louis’ life. He needs Louis’ friends to love him too. He needs to feel normal with everything around him.

A sharp pain jolts through Harry’s frontal lobe, and before he can mask the sudden discomfort, Louis quickly takes notice.

Harry hisses as another painful dart splices through his head, clutching at his forehead. The pain mutes his senses for just a beat. Louis is already meeting Harry’s level, both hands to either side of his head, rubbing small soothing circles into his lobe.  

“You took your medicine, Haz, right?” He says, voice low, just for Harry.

The other three boys watch in silence, Liam nearly on the edge of his seat.

“Of course I did,” Harry replies. The pain has subsided as quickly as it came. It must’ve been all the thinking. Still, Harry shies away from Louis’ touch, too aware of all the stares.

He’s not a spectacle, he’s Harry.

Whoever that is.

_“As with most head injuries, Mr.Styles may experience some slight memory loss, but judging by his quick progress, his mind should improve with each day…”_

It’s been almost two months to the day, and he’s still a mystery even to himself.

 

[***](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NqWcpEZ3GY0)

 

Harry is eight years old, and he’s in love with the world.

His mum tells him everyday, with hearts in her eyes: _be kind to the world and the world will be kind back._

So, here, young Harry stands with his arms outstretched, running through the meadow with his heart open for the taking.

He’s excited to be on his own this time. His house isn’t far from here, but his parents always insist on taking somebody with him when he wants to play outside. But today he’s been a good boy: he helped Gemma with chores, cooked breakfast with his mum, and he even survived a whole hour of watching footy with his dad. Harry was not wrong when he told his parents that he’s grown up now and that he deserved to go off on his own. Through chuckles, his parents agreed, making him promise that he wouldn’t wander too far and to be home in time for dinner.  

And he made it! He’s _free_.

Harry sprints and twirls, his sister’s jumper flopping against his little body, laughing under the cloud-filled sky.

It’s moments like this that make him feel so alive, the wind rushing through his hair, the warmth of the sun kissing his skin. It’s like he can lift up from the ground at any moment. He sees a yellow butterfly flutter above him, and it says to him: _come on, Harry, fly._

So he does. His stretches his arms wide and skips through the flowers and the long green grass. He imagines that the butterfly is a princess and the princess seeks Harry’s help, because she’s stuck in a tower with a monster. But the princess fights the monster all on her own, so really, Harry was just there to offer moral support.

After the butterfly flies off into the sky, turning into a small dot, Harry is able to catch his breath. That was fun. He’ll probably write that one down when he goes home, maybe draw some pictures to go along with it.

Harry is a storyteller, always will be.

He likes to create worlds all his own, turn his adventures into words for the whole world to see. When his mum tucks him in, she’ll often lay beside him, and instead of her telling a bedtime story, it’s Harry who will launch into a spiel about The Pirate Who Wore His Sister’s Jewelry Until She Found Out And Got Angry and The Boy Who Just Wanted Friends. Both of which, are _not_ based on true experiences, honest. _Anyway_ , he likes when she lets him do that. He also likes when Gemma lets him write her a theatrical script for her to perform to their parents after dinner. Her favorite role to play is Queen Gemma, ruler of the Kingdom of Holmes Chapel, and she plays it with much zeal. She’s really nice like that, even when she’s mad about him messing up her room.

That’s why Harry likes coming out here. Here, he’s free to explore, to gather new ideas for the endless library in his head. He feels that when he’s alone, just him and the world, he can hear everything it’s telling him, the stories that are meant to be shared to its people.

He also really really likes fields. And fluffy clouds.

After an exhilarating few minutes spent chasing dragonflies and pretending to be an airplane, he decides it’s time to take a break. He falls softly onto his back, a smile plastered on his face. He begins to mumble softly to himself about the clouds in the sky and what shapes they make and how thankful he is to have them to make the sky so pretty. That one’s a dinosaur...that one’s a castle. And there’s the one he saw just a few moments ago, a dog...or was it a rhino?

He sighs, doesn’t matter. His adrenaline, the thrumming of his heart, has slowed down considerably, and now, he can hear the whole world around him.

It’s now when Harry wishes he could have someone to share this all with. A friend, he supposes.

He’s different. He’s quite aware of this. When his classmates play footie during recess, Harry either sits at the edge of the field, making up stories in his head. Or, he sits by his teacher, indulging in a lovely chat. She must be lonely, too.

He can’t be the only one, right?

“You’re not different, you’re special. Special is wonderful, Harry. Special makes you strong,” his mum had told him once.

So Harry eases the bad thoughts away, humming quietly to himself, a song his mum likes to sing to him when he’s sad. _But when you’re crying, you bring on the rain, so stop that sighing. Be happy again…_

Harry closes his eyes, and makes himself as small as possible, almost sinking into the soft ground. He lets the chirping of the birds and sound of leaves rustling lull him to rest. A short one, though. He has to be home in time for dinner.

_Yes, and keep on smiling, keep on smiling, and the whole world smiles with you._

He’ll be okay. After all, Harry Styles is never one to give up.

 

_____

 

_My life has become a myriad of puzzle pieces, and each piece represents—_

No. Not right.

_My name is Harry Styles and this is my story._

“Starting off with a poor metaphor and a greeting? That’s shit writing, mate.”

Harry yelps, his voice rising to an embarrassingly high squeak. He haphazardly throws his arms across his journal, shielding his scribblings to prevent further humiliation, which is honestly a lost cause at this point.

He closes his journal with a resolute sigh, turning in Louis’ desk chair to see Zayn looking down on him, a twisted smirk on his face and a glass of water in one hand.

“You’re awake,” Zayn says, taking a seat opposite of Harry on the bed. He extends the glass of water towards Harry. “Liam said to keep you hydrated. How’s your head?’

Harry accepts the drink graciously, the cool water soothing the dryness of his throat, and the drumming in his stomach.

“Honestly,” Harry says, placing the glass down, “I don’t remember falling asleep.”

Zayn nods slowly. “Anything interesting happen, then? Find another dream boy?”

A tinge of heat pinks Harry’s cheeks. “No.”

The thing is, Harry doesn’t fall asleep to dream anymore. Instead, when he closes his eyes, he is flooded with what he believes are memories, memories that had been lost in the accident.

Harry doesn’t fall asleep to dream anymore, he falls asleep to remember.

It’s not like he _can’t_ remember important details, any long-term memories. It’s the little things that are hazy to him. The little memories that are meant to shape your entire being; your way of life.

He can remember his mum’s face, but he can’t remember the loving moments shared between the two when she’d tuck him in as a child.

He can remember his parent’s divorce, but he can’t remember how it felt or how it happened.

He can remember Gemma, but he can’t remember the ways he used to make her laugh.

He can remember university and writing, but he can’t remember how to connect pen to paper, to make the pages breathe.

The only truth he has in his life right now is Louis, and that’s it.

Louis; there’s nothing else.

“So, what’s this then?” Zayn asks, interrupting his thoughts and beckoning towards the journal that sits on Louis’ desk.

Harry, feeling sheepish, replies, “Er, I was practicing. Writing, I guess. I’m going back to school in the fall. I’m meant to be finishing a degree in English with Creative Writing, but...I’m afraid I’ve forgotten how to do all that.”

He’s thinking back to his previous memory, the way he felt after he woke up; the need to write it all down: a moment in his childhood, a snapshot of clouds and flowers and bittersweet joy.

Zayn looks on amusedly. “I don’t think you can forget, mate. It’s in there. You can’t forget something that’s natural.”

 _Well, things aren’t coming naturally to me, lately,_ he thinks to himself, stewing in the silence that follows, clenching his hands on the fabric of his jeans.

It’s then that he realizes how late it is, the flat is too quiet, and Zayn is here.

Harry likes Zayn, he really does. He likes the way he rattles on about all the subjects he adores, the way he’s able to string together explanations and words so beautifully, the constant smudge of ink on his hands, and the way he takes care of Liam and his friends. He’s everything Louis’ described him as; practically perfect—in every sense.

He’s just never been alone with him, ever.

“Why are _you_ here?” Harry asks, trying to sound as polite as possible, but judging by Zayn’s response, it wasn’t taken as such. “Not that I don’t like you!” Harry attempts to amend, furiously waving his arms around. “You can stay as long as you want! Just, shit, where is everybody?”

Zayn relents, shaking his head in a soft chuckle. “You’re weird, Harry.” Harry breathes a sigh of relief. “But, Louis’ at his show and Liam’s at Niall’s gig. We flipped a coin, and unfortunately, I’m stuck taking care of you until Louis gets back. Niall was upset. Some tears were shed, but I think he’ll be—”

 _“Louis’ show!”_ Harry cries, jumping from his seat, suddenly remembering the conversation during his painful delirium. “I told you guys to wake me up before the show!”

“He insisted that you stay.”

“No, no, _no._ ” Harry shakes his head. “I never miss a show. Not one show.”

He’s pacing back and forth, trying to conjure up a solution to this horrible predicament. He needs to call a cab, find the nearest bus stop, and maybe there’s a way to pick up some flowers on the way— _fuck_. How angry will Louis be?

Zayn notes the worry in Harry’s entirety, perplexed by it. “Harry, Harry! It’s...it’s okay! It’s just one show? He’s not—”

“Upset. He must be upset,” Harry continues.

Finally, Zayn grabs him by the shoulders, pulling him down to his seat, gripping him tightly. He says slowly, “ _Harry_ , Louis wanted you to stay. He wants you healthy and rested. It’s one show, alright? He knows how much you love him.”

“Yeah?”

“Of-fucking-course.”

Zayn releases his hold and leans back, eyeing Harry precariously. To which Harry replies, eyes on the carpeted floor, “Sorry. I’ve made myself to look like an emotional idiot.”

“‘s fine,” Zayn says, staring unblinkingly. “It’s the most I’ve seen from you, so...cheers.”

Harry blushes. That’s true. Tonight, Zayn has seen more from Harry then he’d like. He’s seen a deep insecurity that he’d rather not share to the anyone else, even Louis. “Well, sorry that you’re stuck with me, then.”

 _“Stuck?”_ Zayn reels back, eyes wide. “Don’t feel bad for me, mate. Feel bad for Liam! He’s stuck in a pub on his lonesome, witnessing another poor attempt of Niall trying to create an acoustic arrangement of _Baby Got Back_!” He throws his hands in the air, hilariously frustrated. “It didn’t work the first time, like, you’d think he’d fucking learn!”

The response elicits a round of laughter from both boys. So maybe there’s hope for a friendship between the Zayn and Harry. Maybe Zayn doesn’t hate him that much.

Harry sighs. “Don’t tell Louis?”

“I won’t.”

They fall into a silence, and Zayn is staring at Harry in that perturbed way of his. A way that makes Harry feel as if he’s another entry in the making of Zayn’s philosophical journal, the one that he totes around on a day to day basis, scribbling notes at random moments.

 _Harry is clearly disturbed,_ he imagines Zayn writing in his journal, _despite his good looks, he is disturbed._

The sudden jingle of keys from the front door fills the quiet room, the noise causing Harry’s heart to skip. Thank Christ. He really hopes it’s not Niall, but—

_“Honey, I’m home!”_

Louis.

Zayn shouts over his shoulder, “I’m in here, love!” He turns sparing a wink at a gaping Harry. _“What?”_

“Zayn, please,” Louis chides, appearing at the doorway of their bedroom. He throws his bag to the side with a breath of relief. “You’re not the one that I want.”

His eyes meet Harry’s. Louis looks fresh, face cleanly ridden of the heavy stage makeup he has to wear, and his damp hair messily tousled across his forehead, no longer chained by monstrous globs of gel. This is his Louis, sweatpants and all, coming home to him. Louis is positively radiant and it takes all of Harry’s strength to not jump into his arms.

“How are we feeling, love?” Louis smiles, sauntering over to Harry’s side. His hands find the nape of Harry’s neck, his fingers carding through his hair. Just by his touch alone, Harry feels lighter, like he could melt right at the spot.

“Fine,” Harry sighs. “But I feel terrible about not being there.”

Louis tugs Harry’s hair lightly, causing Harry to squawk, jumping in his seat. “Harry, please! Coming to just one night was enough. I’m surprised you’re not sick of the show yet!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry sees Zayn shooting him a pointed look, as if to say _I told you so._

And okay, Louis does have a point, too. Harry may be a little sick of the show. There’s only so many jazz squares and choreographed snaps he can take. He was completely invested in the first three or four nights, but now, he finds himself nodding off during numbers that involve anyone but Louis. It’s when Louis graces the stage does the spotlights seem brighter to Harry. He’s completely enraptured by his movements, his voice, and how fucking talented he is.

“I’d never be sick of your performance!” Harry defends, wrapping both arms around Louis’ middle. “Even if you played Maria.”

Louis’ face lights up. “That is not a bad idea.”

He jumps onto the bed, narrowly missing Zayn, who is now wound up in a ball, craning his neck to see what the hell Louis is doing.

 _“I feel pretty!”_ Louis sings in a fabricated falsetto, swiveling his hips.

Louis hops off the bed, and Harry gasps in surprise when he pulls Harry off his seat. He takes Harry’s hand in his, placing the other on Louis’ waist. And with a cheer, Louis leads them throughout their cramped bedroom, waltzing as if under a crystal chandelier with an orchestra playing for the two boys.

 _“I feel pretty,”_ Louis sings.

 _“Oh so pretty!”_ Harry wails back, knowing the words by heart.

Louis continues, twirling Harry around and around, _“I feel pretty and witty and—”_

He spins back towards Louis, so that their faces are inches apart. Together, they cry out, _“GAY!”_

Zayn snorts. “Don’t we all?”

Harry and Louis freeze, turning to meet Zayn’s amused smirk, and in a matter of seconds, Harry has to brace himself against Louis, his body rocking with laughter.

“And on that note,” Zayn says as their laughter subsides, “I’m off to save my _boyfriend_.” He slides around Harry and Louis, mumbling a quick goodbye.

They turn to one another once they hear the front door shut, arms still wrapped around each other.

“So,” Louis says.

“So,” Harry repeats, feeling his stomach dip under Louis’ gaze, “...Sorry, that I couldn’t come. Again.”

Louis sighs in exasperation, before gently cupping Harry’s face with his hands. “Harold, quit saying sorry. Why are you so sorry?”

“I….I dunno,” Harry’s gaze falls.

“Well,” Louis says softly, resting his forehead on Harry’s, soft lips grazing his. “No more of that.” He closes the gap, evoking a pleased noise out of Harry’s mouth. “When will you—” Kiss. “—realize—” Kiss. “—that coming home—” Kiss. “—to you is _more_ than enough?”

Just like that, Harry’s smile stretches from ear to ear, and just like that, Louis has him knocked back onto the bed, his body between Harry’s legs, and his hands sliding up and down Harry’s chest.

Harry gulps, his eyes fixated on Louis standing above him. “Not today. Clearly, not today.”

“ _Not yet_ , anyway,” Louis corrects, eyeing Harry up and down. And that’s it. It’s hot everywhere, and Harry feels as if he’s about to combust unless Louis does something. He needs more. He tugs Louis by the collar of his shirt, pulling him down into deep, drawn-out kiss. The kind that says _we’ve had a long day, let’s make it better._

“You know,” Louis gasps, pulling away, “Niall won’t be home for awhile, probably won’t make it home, honestly.”

“And when has that stopped us?”

Louis lets out a bark of laughter, before pushing Harry backwards, feeling the weight of Louis ontop of him. His blue eyes shine beneath his fringe as he takes in Harry, a sudden softness amidst the want.

“Always right, you are.”

 

***

 

_“Can you take Harry and Gem tomorrow—I, yes, I just need time—no, I’ll be fine. I just...I just need to be alone for a bit—can’t let them see me like this…”_

Harry tips his head back against his mother’s door frame, taking in a shuddering breath. He’s heard enough. Her words have caused a terrible pang in his chest, and if he eavesdrops any longer, he will surely give in to the lump forming in his throat and reveal himself.

Shaking his head as to refocus himself, he holds his breath as he passes his parents’—his mother’s—bedroom, his feet slowly and cautiously tiptoeing past his room to Gemma’s. Harry stands in front of her bedroom, raising a fist to knock against the door.

But he freezes.

Maybe he should turn around. He’s 11 years old, after all. Surely he should be brave enough to handle this on his own. But one second he’s considering running back to his room, and the next, he’s knocking gently on his sister’s door, feet practically glued to the ground.

“Come in,” a soft voice croaks.

He treads quietly into the room, and the first thing he sees is his sister staring blankly into space, sitting up against her headboard with an unopened book in her hands.

“Gem?”

She turns, and upon seeing Harry, her lips twitch upwards, but only for a second. Swallowing the small smile of acknowledgment away, she returns to staring at the same spot on her wall.

Harry loves his sister. She’s only three years older than him—not far off—but for as long as they’ve been together, she’s taken on more as his older sister. She is strength and leveled-ground and everything Harry wants to grow up to be.

And she’s hurting. That, he can tell by the darkness of her room, the drawn curtains and the cold air. There’s no fond pet names, no tender words, just emptiness. He wishes he could make everything better.

“Will you go to the meadow with me?” He’s surprised by the raspiness of his voice. Besides the soft patter of rain, the house has been quiet today. There is much to be said, but no one is speaking.

She breathes deeply. “Harry,” Gemma says, beckoning to the window. “It’s raining.”

“But…”

“I don’t feel like leaving, Harry.” Her voice is icy, and her words, final.

“Then I’ll go by myself,” he replies, shoulders slumping.

“Not alone,” she says, shaking her head. “And not in this weather.”

He reaches into his pocket, fingers grazing the coarse envelope, feeling the traces of folded paper. “I need to go there. It’s...it’s my place.”

Gemma’s lips part, eyebrows drooping as Harry turns quickly on his feet. _Fine_ , that’s just fine. He can go on his own. He walks swiftly through the hallway, making sure to hold his breath as he passes his mum’s room, and tiptoeing as he goes down their creaky stairs.

He throws on his coat, puts on his bright rain boots, and surreptitiously opens the front door. It’s gray outside, the rain comes in heavy drops, and the cluster of dark clouds makes the world seem much more ominous.

Just as he’s about to step out into the downpour, he hears:

“Harry.”

He turns, and there’s Gemma, an umbrella in one hand and a slight smirk on her lips. She takes his hand in hers, and together, they walk towards their meadow.

By the time they reach where the dirt path meets a patch of towering grass, the rain has lessened, dropping in a slow rhythm.

Gemma turns to Harry. “Take the umbrella.”

“You’re not coming with?” He asks, looking up at her, confused.

She shakes her head. “I’ll wait for you here. Go...do what you have to do.”

Harry smiles, rushing to wrap his arms around Gemma’s middle. “Keep the umbrella,” he mumbles into the fabric of her shirt, “I’ll be fine.”

“And I’ll be here,” she says, pushing him towards the grass.

Harry spins on his heel, rushing towards the clearing. The grass is not as tall as it was when he was a child, not as intimidating and adventurous as it once was, but the promising feeling of plunging through is still present.

When he finally reaches the clearing, it’s like he can breath again. He continues walking, his boots sloshing against the muddy ground, until he arrives at the edge of the meadow. It’s a cliff, except not very frightening. When he looks down there’s a bed of flowers not far from where he stands. Harry sits, and immediately, pulls the envelope that rests in his pocket.

 _Harry_ , it reads.

His fingers shake as he slides the folded paper out of the envelope, unfolding it to see inky words that he’s read over and over again, the stain of tears splattering the pages.

 _Dear Harry_ , he reads.

He can’t go on. His vision blurs, and hot tears begin to spill from his eyes. Sentences such as, _you are so loved_ and _it’s not your fault_ seem to float from the page, swimming into a muddle of words. The letter tears at his heart, yet it feels so good to react openly. The absence of paper thin walls allows him to feel this. It brings Harry to the ground, crumbling onto the grassy floor.

Harry is sobbing, his body is shaking, and he’s alone.

He loves his father, always will, and he knows how much his parents need this. If something isn’t working, if love runs out, then you have to set each other free. That’s how his father described it at least. But the house is one less person, there’s no constant presence of his father, and the memories of the four of them together seem broken.

But there is something cleansing, a prick of hope in his heart, when he lets the paper fall below, the ink no longer legible to his eyes. As he watches the paper sweep through the wind, dissolving into a wet glob, he breathes in a sense of finality.

This is his life now, and with Gemma and his mum both new to this too,  he feels as if he’ll have to stumble through it blindly.

Oh how he wishes to have someone next to him, to tell him it’ll be alright, and for Harry to believe it.

 

_____

 

Harry clenches the edges of the kitchen counter, trying to shake away the unwanted thoughts that border his mind. Tonight’s memory was dark, pulling him into a place that had cut him deeply at that age.

A scratchy voice jolts him his thoughts. “Haz?”

He turns and sees Louis, rubbing at tired eyes, his hair sticking up in various places; he looks soft, and Harry feels his heart thrum in his chest.

“Go back to bed,” he says, the corner of his mouth lifting at the sight of his sleepy Louis.

Louis sighs, his feet padding against the tile. “Can’t,” he says, standing toe to toe with Harry, “I can’t sleep without you next to me. You know that.”

Louis’ hips are jutted out with both arms crossed, eyes scanning Harry from head to toe.  “Why are you up? It’s...” He glances at the clock on the wall. “It’s 8 in the morning. It’s a sin for us to be awake at this hour.”

“Niall’s gone for a jog. _He’s_ awake.”

Louis rolls his eyes, ignoring Harry’s reasoning. “Are _you_ okay?”

“I’m fine,” he dismisses quickly, cheeks flushing as Louis cautiously watches him.“Really.”

Harry is just about to put the memory to rest, just about to lead him and Louis back to bed, when something in the way that Louis gazes at him causes his body to stop.

And he remembers. Moments in their meadow, in their place between reality and dreams, moments where Louis would speak fondly of him, sharing all the times in which he felt like a spectator in Harry’s life.

“Lou?” Harry begins, “Remember when you’d tell me about all the dreams you had when you were younger? The ones where you’d just watch me because I couldn’t talk back?”

Louis nods expectantly.

“Wasn’t there...wasn’t there one where it was raining? I was at the cliff and you read something.”

Louis tilts his head, his brow scrunching in deep thought. His head snaps to meet Harry’s eager gaze. “Yes! We were both really young, twelve or something, and you were crying because you had just read something. God, what was it?” His head dips back, eyes searching the ceiling for details of that moment of time. “It was from your dad! Shit, I remember reading that and just _knowing_. Like, I knew what you were feeling? I...oh yes! I held you hand.” He grabs Harry’s hand, just like younger Louis would have. “I just...I just remember wishing that I could make you feel less upset...less alone.” He pauses. “ _Wait_ , why are you asking?”

 _Because I lived that_ , Harry thinks, gaping at Louis. He wanted someone to be there for him, and Louis had come. What was the universe telling Louis? What was it telling Harry?

“You...you’re amazing,” Harry manages to say, bringing Louis’ hand up to his lips, peppering his skin with short kisses. “You’re perfect, Lou. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome?” Louis chuckles slowly as Harry pulls away. He looks confused, but a shade of crimson stains his cheeks, there’s a smile that he’s trying to contain. “Well damn, maybe 8 AM is good for us. We might as well pick up breakfast, surprise Niall and all that.”

“Willingly buying Niall food?”

“My resilience has been cracked by your love.”

He throws an arm around Louis’ shoulders, leading him into the adjacent room. “Perfect. But _you’re_ driving.”

 

***

 

Harry’s fingers fly across  his laptop’s keyboard, the quick tapping of the keys sends a buzz through his insides. It feels wonderful to be back at school, to be studying something that he loves, and to be writing for academia again.

This first day of university is bittersweet, however. It’s his last one. After this year, he’ll be thrown out into the real world—which doesn’t really terrify him, honestly.

He’s majoring in English and Creative Writing, a subject that most people would scoff at. _What are you going to do with that degree?_

 _Anything_ , Harry would answer. He can do anything. He might travel once school is over, see more of the world. He can see himself on a sailboat, scribbling in a journal as he travels through the Atlantic, spewing tales of pirates and mermaids. _But_ , he can also see himself working in the city, maybe in that bakery across the Grand theatre. He has outlines and doodles and many unfinished works that he has tucked away in his drawers. The idea of living a simple life by day and coming home to write and create sounds enticing as well.

He’s not too worried about it. Inspiration is everywhere, and he was born to do this—to tell stories. As long as he has that, he’ll be fine.

Harry’s phone vibrates, skittering across the pages of his textbook and filling the space of his shitty dorm room.

He smiles when he sees the caller ID. “Queen Gemma!”

“Hello, little brother.” He can hear the smirk on her lips.

He always appreciates calls from his sister. She lives in London now, living the life of a proper business woman. She hardly has time to chat, but when she does, her time is reserved for Harry.

“Not so little anymore. To what do I owe the pleasure, my queen?”

“Just calling to check up on you. Last year of uni and all that. Must be exciting.”

Harry’s eyes flicker between his opened word document and the stack of books on his desk. “Exciting? I’m already swimming in homework. Been in my dorm since classes ended.”

Gemma scoffs. “Ugh, _Harry_ —”

“I’m working on a writing piece that’s supposed to be inspired by _William Blake_. You know, the poet?”

“Sweet, naive Harry. Just because you’re a literary genius, doesn’t mean I don’t know my shit.”

“Prove it.”

Gemma sighs, and says smugly, _“O, what land is the Land of Dreams? What are its mountains, and what are its streams?”_

“You googled that.”

“If it makes you feel any better.” She pauses. “Well, please tell me that you’re at least leaving your box of a room tonight.”

“I am!” Harry says indignantly. He smiles coyly. “ _In fact_ , I have a date.”

“ _A date_ ,” she practically sings, “What boy is lucky to—”

“Girl.” Harry quickly cuts in, his voice growing slight. A sinking feeling begins to burn in his chest. “Ed from next door set us up. He, uh, he wants me to meet her at his gig. He says it’ll be sick, so—”

 _“Yeah it will!”_ Ed’s voice rings through the paper thin walls of his dorm.

A booming laugh quickly follows, causing the wall to shake. Harry hears a muffled Irish voice: _“Cause I’m gonna fucking rock it!”_

Harry lets out an annoyed sigh, moving away from the wall, flopping onto his lumpy mattress. “Sorry bout that, Gem.”

But Gemma’s voice is quiet, solemn. “Harry... _a girl_? Still on with the charade? Harry, we love you no matter what. You don’t have to keep pretendi—”

“It’s not you guys,” he interjects, throat growing dry, “it’s the world. I’m not...I’m not out to them.”

“It was just one guy…. a long time ago.”

“Yeah, and I ruined his life. He had to move.” The memory still causes Harry’s mind to go dim and his stomach to drop. Gemma is right. It’s been ages. He was sixteen at the time—yet it still torments  him.

“But that’s on _him_ , not on _you_. You’re in your twenties, Harry. You can’t keep hiding. No one cares, and if they do, then they’re fucking idiots.”

“I know.” He nods, even though she cannot see. “ _I know_. I’m just scared is all. Scared of a repeat. I’m just trying to protect myself.”

“Listen, Harry.” He hears Gemma take a deep breath. “ _Tonight_. Tonight’s the night. You’re going to meet a guy who’ll make you forget. Someone who will love you and free you.”

“Whatever, Gem,” he says dismissively, a small chuckle escaping his lips. But inside, his heart flutters at the idea, that just around the corner, there could be...someone.

“Don’t laugh! Believe me, little brother! Something’s coming!”

 

_____

 

Harry concludes that he has forgotten; forgotten how to write, and forgotten how to love it.

Upon this crushing realization, Harry decides that getting started on dinner should ease his mind for the moment, and that’s when he sees Niall.

The kitchen area is a mess. The dining table is a covered with maps and pins and various colored markers. Niall sits at the head of it all, punching away at a calculator, a marker between his teeth, and another behind his ear. His feet rhythmically bounce on the tile floor and his head swings to whatever song is in his head.

“Hewohareh,” Niall says indistinctly, marker still caught between his teeth, eyes darting between his calculator and notepad.

“Hi Niall,” Harry says slowly, taking in the disarray in front of him. “Planning session, I see?”

Niall spits out the marker, followed by a huff. “Yeah, but _Jesus Christ_ , it’s fucking hard. More than I thought it would be.”

Harry nods. Niall’s summer has been spent playing various gigs and teaching guitar to kids at the local music school. He had even spent the beginning of the summer working as a tour guide at the museum—but he got fired the first week. Turns out he’s not as good as he thought he was. Doesn’t really matter, anyway. All these odd jobs go towards his gap year, a year dedicated to traveling around the globe—a proper adventure. Niall’s so excited, it’s all he talks about sometimes.

“I’m torn between starting north and traveling to Norway, or beginning south in Paris,” Niall explains, drumming his fingers along one of the many maps that are spread across the table. “But Paris is where Liam and Zayn went off to after graduation. I’m afraid of walking through the streets of Paris and suddenly thinking: _well fuck_ , here is another place _tainted_ by one Zayn Malik and Liam Payne.”

Harry face contorts in confusion.

“Zayn tells me things.”

“Oh.”

“And then,” Niall groans, “there’s the whole money issue. Figure I need to go in with some sorta budgeting plan. Right now, I’m sorting out funds from my sad bank account and the jar.”

He beckons towards the large glass jar that acts as the centerpiece of their coffee table. It’s the first thing anyone sees when they enter their flat, shiny and almost filled to the brim with loose change. It’s decorated with stickers and bold letters that read: _Donate to Niall Horan’s Excellent Adventure! (please)_ and scratched out below the letters, you can barely make out a messily scrawled: _Niall and Louis’ Alchohol Fund—stop fucking stealing Zayn_

“Are you majoring in accounting, Harry?” Niall asks, returning to his work.

“No, writing,” Harry replies as he ambles into the kitchen, wondering what he could possibly cook for the three of them tonight.

“Well, fuck. Why do I keep getting -54 dollars?” Niall says under his breath, punching furiously at his calculator.

“Here let me—”

Harry’s phone rings in his pocket. He brightens when he sees Louis’ face glowing brightly on the small screen. He’d been out all day for West Side Story press; Harry misses his successful boyfriend, _so what_?

He presses the _‘accept’_ button and exclaims, “Baby, if you were a vegetable, you’d be a cute-cumber.”

Louis erupts into bright laugher on the other line, meanwhile, Niall gags from his spot at the table.

“Nice one, love. I want to say two points, but I feel like I oughta give you more. I bet you spent all day on that one—five points.”

There is no lie there. “I’ll take it. What’s up?”

“Just wanted to tell you that I won’t be home for dinner. The cast and I are having dinner with Simon to celebrate closing week. That’s fine, yeah?”

Oh. “Yeah, of course.” He forgets that Louis’ lucky. Lucky to have a life away from their little flat. “I was gonna cook up something, but I guess this is a good excuse to order in.”

“Go crazy. Order extra dessert, fuck calories, but don’t pick anything spicy. Niall might find it.”

Noted.

“Oh!” Louis exclaims. “I almost forgot! Clear your calendar saturday night after the show!”

Not a very hard thing to do for Harry.

“Simon’s throwing a wrap party in that fancy penthouse of his. He said I could invite you guys. Whatdya say? Fancy being my date?”

Harry starts to pace, chewing on his bottom lip. A party? With all of those people? He’s reminded of the party that was thrown opening night. How proud he was to be on Louis’ arm, but how painfully uncomfortable it felt be socializing with all these people that love Louis. There was a feeling of inadequacy, a pressure to fit their glorified image of Louis’ boyfriend.

Harry’s a charmer, quite skilled in keeping a conversation, but it was weird to see Louis being in the center of everything, witnessing how fast he could be with the people around him, easily impressing everyone in orbit. Harry became sort of lost in it all. Louis has a bright future.

It was also the first Harry had been in a crowded environment since the accident. Mixed with everything else, the night didn’t really bode well for him. But he’ll go through it again, for Louis.

“Sounds wonderful, Lou.— Okay, I’ll see you later—Okay. I will.—Love you too, bye.” He sighs, stuffing his phone back into his pocket.

He’ll look up some menus online, maybe order some italian for himself. And Niall. He should probably order something for Niall as well.

“You’re lying to him,” Niall quips, just as Harry passes him.

“What?”

He meets Harry’s bewildered stare. “You’re lying to Louis. You don’t want to go to the party. It sounds shit to you, not wonderful.”

_“How do you…?”_

“Saw the way you were moving about. Also, mate, I remember what you were like at the opening party. You kept having to go the bathroom. It was like you wanted to, I don’t know, jump out of your fucking skin or something.”

Harry sputters. “I-I guess. But I mean, we do things for the people we love. Even if it makes us feel uncomfortable.”

“True,” Niall hums. “Sometimes I’ll help Liam study anatomy, even if it’s the most fucking painful thing in the world. But I don’t make it a habit. And I don’t expect him to say or do things just for my sake either. Pull up a chair, Harry.”

Harry is hesitant at first, but he takes a seat next to Niall, feeling as if he’s being interrogated by the police.

“Here’s the thing, if you keep doing stuff like that, it just becomes a pile of lies. The relationship turns into favors, not honest actions. And in the end of it all, someone will get hurt.” He continues, “And Harry...Louis can’t hurt. Not anymore. I’ve seen him at his best because of you, but I’ve also seen him at his worst because of you. This miscommunication. Dishonesty. It’s kinda like stepping stones? It’s going to lead to a breaking point.”

“Niall, I would never—” Harry starts.

“I know,” he interjects. “Just thought I should say it. Been meaning to anyway.”

Harry doesn’t argue. There’s truth in Niall’s words, and he only wants to protect Louis’ feelings. Niall really cares for him. They all do.

But in the back of Harry’s mind, there’s a little voice that says: _But what about me?_

“Anyway,” Niall chirps, instantly brightening. “You said you were gonna pick up food?”

Right, that was the plan. Order in food, take it to his room, and eat by himself. Possibly figure out _his_ “bright” future.

“I am,” Harry answers, still shaken by Niall’s speech. “Do, uh, do you want anything?”

Niall doesn’t respond at first. He begins to fold up all of his maps, making a pile at the corner of the table, muttering about how he’ll end up playing his travels by ear like he always does.

Finally, he turns to Harry. “Actually,” he begins, “it looked like you were gonna cook something before you took Louis’ call. You can still do that, even if it’s just you and I. I don’t know. We can...we can eat together, the pair of us. It’s fine.”

Harry blinks back at Niall, taken aback. “Um, yeah. Yeah! We can do that.”

Surprisingly, Niall breathes a sigh of relief, taking Harry’s cheeks in his hands. “There’s a good lad.”

 

***

 

The air is sweet around Harry.

He’s missed this; coming here, feeling the soft grass under his toes and the way the gentle winds dance around him. Between traveling and a part-time job, summer has been chaotic, no time for the usual stroll.

It’s his last night home before he leaves for his first year of university, and it had felt right to come here. It’s his place after all, his meadow. Harry’s nerves have intensified these past few days and he hopes that the quiet can calm him.

He’s completely thrilled to be studying something that he loves, to begin life. However, beginning his life alone without his parents or sister? That terrifies him.

His family knows every facet about him, knows his deepest secrets, and it’s not like he’s had any luck with keeping genuine friends. The few friends that he possesses have barely scratched the surface on who he really is. No one understands him like his family do, and how can he expect anyone to? There must be a reason for his solitude.

 _Maybe I’ll do it_ , he thinks, _Maybe I’ll be true to myself when I get to Leeds. I can be out and open and people can accept me._

But, no. No. He can’t do that. They’ll run. People like this version of Harry. He should keep it that way.

He reaches the edge of the cliff. The deep blazing sun lowers before him, painting the sky with fiery hues, and Harry wonders if it’s his meadow’s way of saying goodbye to him.

“It’s beautiful,” Harry murmurs, plopping down onto the grass, dangling his legs over the ledge.

 _And wait._ This happened once. In a dream. In fact, it was the strangest dream Harry has ever had—which is really saying something with Harry’s imagination. It encapsulated his mind for an entire week, leaving him in utter bafflement.

He was sitting right here...and _a voice_. A voice started speaking to him, vibrant yet soft, almost melodic. It was a boy, and Harry had only caught the tail end of what he had to say:

_“...this relationship has been one-sided for me, I get that. But you should know that it’s...it’s been everything to me. I’m a better person now, Harry. And I have you to thank for that. So...thank you.”_

His breath gets caught in throat just thinking about what happened after. He turned, and saw _him_. In his mind, Harry begins to reinvent the way the sun cut through all the boy’s angles. The way the light caught every beautiful part of him; his chestnut colored hair, his golden skin, his glowing smile, the curl of his lashes.

He was—and is—the most gorgeous boy that Harry has ever laid eyes on.

And what did Harry say? Oh yes, he said: _“Of course, Louis.”_

 _Of course, Louis._ How did Harry know the name before it rolled perfectly off his tongue? Had he seen the boy before, or was he completely a figment of Harry’s imagination, another character to add to all of the stories in his head?

Whoever Louis is, he stirred something in Harry’s heart. Maybe he’ll meet a guy like him in uni—if he’d be so lucky.

What a strange dream.

_____

 

One moment, Harry is waking up next to Louis, wrapping him in his arms because this man has taken Harry’s heart—and earlier than they had first presumed. He must tell him soon. For now, he steals a couple more minutes of sleep.

The next moment, Harry has locked himself up in the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the bathtub, head dipped to the ground, and phone to his ear. He chews on his lip to stop its trembling.

“Gemma…what are you talking about?”

“You used to make flower crowns for me, Harry. You used to make flower crowns for me, because I was your royal sister. You’d write plays for me about how I lived in a castle. You still call me Que— _Harry?”_

Her voice rises in pitch when she says his name, like she’s pleading.

Harry takes a beat, willing himself to remember. But he exhales in defeat. “I don’t remember that.”

Gemma’s voice is quiet. “Sometimes I think you’ve forgotten everything about us.”

Harry chokes. Everything around him feels like ice. His head starts to feel as if it’s splitting in two, like someone has taken a hammer to his skull.

“I-I’m sorry, Gem.” He really is. “I’ve gotta go. I have to go.”

He hangs up quickly, just as Gemma calls out for him to _wait_ , to _come back_. He shoots up onto his feet—too hastily—he feels as if the ground may slip under him. Speckled dots appear in his vision, and wetness pools in his eyes. He’s just about to analyze the person he sees in front of the mirror when he hears his name being called.

“ _Harry!_ Come in to the living room, will you?”

Quickly, Harry wipes at his eyes before entering the room. There, Niall is sat on the couch, plucking the strings of his guitar, while Louis emerges from the kitchen, wiping at his hands.

Louis fondly rolls his eyes in Niall’s direction upon Harry’s arrival. “He wants you.”

He eyes Harry precariously and adds, low, just for Harry to hear. “Are you alright?”

 _Say it—like you always do._ “I’m fine. I’m fine.”

Niall’s head jerks up, noticing Harry for the first time. He strums his guitar. “Have a seat, Harry! We need to get something straight.”

Oh no.

Niall continues, “Louis won’t fess up. He won’t say that he’s the one leaving big tips in my donation jar when I _know_ it’s him!”

Harry’s shoulders sag in relief. Okay, this isn’t about him. He can take a seat back.

“And what evidence do you have?” Louis sneers, before primly seating himself on the arm of Harry’s chair.

Niall scoffs. “I just know.”

“It’s not me, Niall!” He produces a stick of gum from his pocket, shoving it in Niall’s face. “This is me.” He tosses it into the jar, and smiles smugly at his friend. _“Ha.”_

“Why don’t you want to admit that you’re being nice to me? That you care about me!” Niall says, dramatically preening under his imaginary spotlight.

Louis tips his head back in laughter. “Oh come off it. It could have been anyone. Zayn...Liam...your mum that one day.”

“50 quid!” Niall turns to Harry. “It was _50 quid_! Multiples of them! He won’t admit it!”

“50 quid?” Harry has to look away. The volume is starting to get to him, his mind is still very dizzy from his sister’s phone call. He faintly says, distracted, “Oh yeah, that was me. 50 quid. Once at least. Or twice. I-I’m not sure.”

Busy with the pain drilling in his head, he misses the way Niall leans back, pleased shock etched on his face. He also misses the way Louis shoots Niall a prideful smile.

Shit, he needs to take his medicine after this conversation is over.

There’s a ruckus at the door that averts Niall’s attention.

Liam storms in. “You will never believe this!”

Niall mumbles under his breath, something about getting better at locking their door. Meanwhile, Louis turns to Harry, places a finger to his lips, and reaches in his pocket to pull out a 50 pound note. His hand reaches out like a blur, sneakily dropping the money into the jar as Niall deals with Liam.

So Harry and Louis are both responsible for the charitable donations in Niall’s jar. The way Louis smiles softly at him, as if to say, _of course I’ve been doing it too_ and _look at us being a generous couple_ , makes Harry’s trouble ease, slowly but surely.

“Jesus, what are you going on about, Li? Here to take up space in our flat?” Niall chides. “And breakfast has already been served, before you take that too.”

Then, Zayn busts in. “Don’t listen to Liam!”

Liam disregards Niall’s opposition and Zayn’s sudden entrance. “Remember when Louis made that terrible assumption that Zayn spends his free time being a member of an underground graffiti crew—”

“—I still stand by that—”

“—well, I went to surprise him at work, and it turns out...Zayn is still apart of the AcaSquad!”

Zayn groans as Niall and Louis topple over, roaring in laughter. “Don’t listen to Liam,” he repeats. And whines, “because it’s true.”

“You’re back with the AcaSquad!” Niall hoots, wiping at his eyes.

“Not back! Just helping them!” Zayn shoots back, defensively. “They _need_ me!”

“But you’re still singing with your little crew,” Louis adds on, placing a hand to his heart. “Bless.”

“Among other things,” Zayn pouts, as any prideful academic would. He jabs at Liam’s sides. “Oi, stop laughing. They helped with you and I, didn’t they?”

Liam shakes the laughter away, replacing it with a small smile. He pats Zayn’s thigh. “You’re right.” He turns to Louis and Niall. “Busy morning?”

Louis shakes his head. “Niall’s working on another song, but in other news, what’s fucking new?”

Affronted, Niall turns to Louis with narrowed eyes. “Yes I am. It’s called Fuck You Louis, and it goes like this.” He strums a jarring chord, and sings, “ _Fuck you Louis, I hope you slip on your own shit and diieeEEeeeeEee…_ ”

He holds the last note for dramatic effect, the complexity of it is actually impressive.

Zayn and Liam politely clap.

Louis leaps up, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Someone give this guy a Grammy.” And he pounces on him. Niall discards his guitar, and soon they’re all-out wrestling on the floor. Then Liam joins, and then Zayn.

How did that just happen in a matter of seconds? The room erupts in chaos, and Harry is left sitting in his seat. After a few kicks and headlocks, Louis wiggles out of the fray, watching as the other three boys continue springing on one another. He bites back a smug smile, watching what he has created, and for a second, he meets Harry’s gaze. His eyes crinkle under Harry’s, before turning back to focus on the boys.

Even if it was just for a second, the look makes Harry’s skin feel on fire, makes his heart want to lurch out of his chest. He doesn’t stop staring at Louis, his gorgeous boy with an impish smile, who is reveling in the joy that fills up the room.

It’s then that Harry’s realizes how much Louis lights up any space he’s in. He’s the center of his group of friends, and now, the center of Harry’s life. He used to joke about Louis being the brightest star in the night sky, but he’s much more than that. When he’s lively, animated, and impassioned, he blazes like the sun, setting fire to the Earth. But he’s the moon, as well. He’s the constant glow, gifting light to the world in its darkest times.

Louis is all of these things, and now, Harry can see just how influential he is to Zayn, Liam, and Niall. Together, they are a system.

And as Harry sits back aloof, he wonders when he’ll start to join their orbit, too.

 

___

 

It’ll get worse before it get’s better, Harry thinks. Except he’s starting to wonder if it’ll ever get better.

It’s almost one in the morning, and Harry throws the sheets off of him, lying in the moonlight that pours into the bedroom. He reaches an arm out, feeling for a body next to him—but he’s not there. Still out, Harry assumes. Louis had said that he wouldn’t be going home with Harry after the show. He had told him not to wait up for him.

And Harry understands, he does. Louis needs to impress Simon and all of his constituents. With West Side Story ending this weekend, Louis’ means of income and creative outlet will come to a jarring halt unless Simon invites him to join his acting company back at the repertory theatre. If he gets it, then Louis will be able to call himself a working actor for at least one more theatre season.

So if Louis needs to spend as much time as he can making a name for himself under Simon’s eyes by business dinners and cast parties, then that’s fine. Harry understands.

But his head is currently stabbing with pain, and all he can see is faded images of memories. He had dreamt of a happy one. He was getting published in the university’s paper, a lengthy article by Harry Styles. It had brought him joy.

But when he awoke, the feeling of joy was ripped away from him.

Now, Niall’s snores can be heard from across the hall, and Harry is wondering why that Harry is different from _this_ Harry.

Hoping to find something inspirational inside him, he makes for the leather bound journal that sits on their nightstand, but the jingle of keys stops him. Frantically, Harry jumps back under the covers, burrowing himself into the mattress before shutting his eyes.

 _You’re fine_ , he tells himself. _You’re fine._

Harry can hear the sounds of keys being tossed aside, a bag being thrown to the floor, and clothes randomly falling one by one. Next, he’s crawling into bed next to Harry, softly as to not wake him up.

Harry pretends to stir.

Louis shushes him, pulling him close to his body, and the smell of him, something fresh and warm, envelops him. All at once, Harry feels the upsurge of anxiety in his bones slowly diminish.

Louis’ voice is low in his ear, barely a whisper. “Missed you.”

 

_____

 

Harry is staring at a blank word document when the doorbell rings.

It’s just him and Niall at the flat this afternoon. Louis had a matinee show to do, and with Harry’s morning headache, the kind that was impossible to ignore, he demanded that Harry stay home again.

He’s fine now, except for the fact that he’s burning holes into his laptop screen. It’s taunting him, Harry thinks with a pout.

The doorbell rings again, and somewhere in the flat he hears Niall shout, _“Fuck, Harry, I’m busy!_ ”

Harry hurriedly makes his way to the front door. It’s probably Liam, early to their pre-double date rendezvous. Louis had insisted that they go out to lunch, just the four of them—much to Niall’s chagrin.

“Why can’t I bloody go then?” He had asked, face twisting in boyish resentment.

“Because it’s a double date, Ni,” Louis replied, rolling his eyes.

“I can find a girl quickly. _Anyone_ , really. I can! In five minutes!”

“Didn’t work last time,” Zayn jested.

Niall regarded him, thoughtfully.

“Enjoy your lunch, then.”

Harry opens the door, revealing Liam who is stood swaying from heel to toe. “Hello!” He greets, with the usual bright chime of his voice. “Louis back yet?”

“Er, no, it’s just me,” Harry replies, scooting back so that Liam can enter. “For now.”

“Oh,” Liam says. He stuffs his hands in his pocket, walking around the empty flat. He seems lost without Zayn or the other boys by his side. It’s just him and Harry.

_Ask him about work._

“How’s—”

“Is Niall here?” He interjects, eyes darting to the hallway.

“Oh. Yeah, he’s somewhere. Said he was busy, though,” Harry’s mouth stretches into a thin smile, his awkward arms illustrating Niall’s absence. “He’s around though! You can look! If you want to hang out with him, I mean—”

“—No, no, it’s fine,” Liam says quickly, voice overlapping with Harry’s. He walks over to the couch, sparing a look at Harry. “I’ll just have a seat, then. So,um, how’s the end of summer treating you?”

Harry pauses. He has seen Liam almost every day in the past week, yet, the acknowledgment is foreign.

“Good.”

“Nice.”

Fuck almighty, Louis needs to get here soon. Or, Zayn. Maybe if he screams, Niall will run in. Anything to keep Liam occupied.

Harry’s phone vibrates in his pocket, causing him to silently cheer at the welcomed distraction. He sees Louis’ face flashing on the screen, and he outwardly cheers. He turns to Liam. “It’s Louis!”

Liam’s face brightens up—maybe too overtly—at their one connection occupying their focus.

“Louis!” Harry shouts into the phone, his smile switching between Liam and the door. “Are you on your way back, yet? Liam’s here! So are you on your way?”

“About that,” Louis sighs on the other end. “Harry, I won’t be able to do lunch.”

 _“Oh.”_ His shoulder’s slump, and Liam, who is intently watching the phone conversation, leans forward.

“But listen,” Louis says excitedly, voice rising in pitch. “Simon just stopped by my dressing room to tell me that he wants to offer me a spot in his acting company! _Harry, I can’t believe it!_ ”

“That’s amazing, Lou!” Harry exclaims, even though there’s a tiny part of him that is withering. There his Louis goes, on to better things, too busy for Harry. “I knew he would! Did you say yes?”

“Of course I said yes! Me and this other girl that he invited are on our way to have lunch with him now. To talk contracts and what not. I’m buzzin’, Harry, absolutely happy.”

“Good,” Harry replies, faintly, “You deserve it. Um, I’ll see you at the show tonight?”

“Please, don’t come. Take a break.” Louis laughs into the phone. “Also, I’ll be toasting with the company tonight to celebrate, so I’ll be late again. You can always meet us if you’d like!”

“No, that’s fine,” Harry replies, dismissively.

Liam raises an eyebrow at Harry.

“Enjoy yourself. I’ll just see you in the morning...I’m proud of you, Louis.

Louis pauses. “Thanks, Haz. I should be going. I love you.”

“Love you too,” Harry rasps, hanging up just as Louis starts to say something.

He stuffs his phone into his pocket, his mind in a disarray, his nerves itching. He falls into a spot next to Liam on the couch, and immediately, Liam crowds him.

“Harry, are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look—”

“That was Louis,” Harry breathes out. “He got the spot in Simon’s company.”

“That’s brilliant, Harry!” Liam says, the end of his sentence is clipped with confusion. “Right?”

Harry nods, slowly. “But he can’t make lunch.”

“Oh,” Liam shakes his head at Harry, bewildered. “Well, that’s okay. We can just resche—”

“He’s been doing that quite often,” Harry interjects. “Missing lunch. Coming home late. For good reason, of course. Just...just often.”

Liam leans back, and his eyes do not leave Harry’s. The start of an idea slowly washes throughout his expression until he pulls out his phone, fingers jabbing at the screen.

“Hello, Zayn?” Liam says into his phone.

Meanwhile, Harry tries to keep his breath steady.

“...no don’t rush with your work. I...I actually won’t be able to make lunch with Harry and Louis,” he continues. Harry has to double take. “Yeah, I’ve got something I need to take care of. No need to worry.—Perfect, I’ll see you back home.”

He hangs up, turning back to Harry, who blinks up at him incredulously. But Liam doesn’t budge, only stares at Harry expectantly.

“I…” Harry starts. “Liam, you didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course, I did.”

“But why?”

“Cause something’s bothering you,” he shrugs. “And we don’t really get a chance to talk on our own, you and I.” He chuckles. “I always feel like there’s something in the way.”

Harry regards Liam, taking in the way he eyes him with gentle caution. This is Liam. Louis always depicted him as someone who took themselves too seriously at times, but held a strong heart. The moral compass of the group. Harry can see all this, and now, a bit more.

This is the Liam who saved him, traced him all the way to his small village. The memory remains clear in his mind:

“Is this Harry Styles?” Liam had said, voice sounding weary through the phone.

“Yes. That’s my name,” he had replied in confusion, shooting his mum a curious look. Why did she take this phone call out of all the ones they had been flooded with.

“Hi, Harry.” His voice was kind. “It’s me, Liam. Friend of Louis— _Louis Tomlinson._ ”

Harry had practically jumped out of bed, ignoring the heaviness of his limbs, and the faintness in his head—much to his mum’s displeasure.

“ _Louis Tomlinson!_ Yes, I know him!”

“Oh, thank the fucking Lord—you remember. Harry, Louis...he thinks you're dead.”

“He thinks I’m dead?” Harry had cried into the phone. “I’m not!”

“ _Clearly._ But it’s okay. We can get him to you by tomorrow.”

“ _Please._ I know a place we can go, too. _Liam_ , I’ve been waiting to get out and find him!”

“And you’ll be together soon. But Harry—we have to tell eachother everything.”

And so they did. Harry had told him how he’d woken up to his family surrounding him and the cries of celebration that followed; how he was pushed into another room, doctors desperate for answers that they couldn’t find; how all he kept saying was _Louis, Louis, Louis._ Then Liam told him about Louis running after him; how Liam had stormed into the hospital, demanding answers that they wouldn’t give him. But Liam never stopped. He kept coming back until they finally told him that Harry was alive, and after that, they scoured the internet, phoned multiple people, searching for one Harry Styles.

He was precise in everything. Precise in how they were going to bring Louis and Harry together, and precise in how they were meant to treat the mourning Louis. Even if the others had disagreed with his methods, he stayed firm.

This is Liam. He’s every good trait that Louis had told him he was and more. So why can’t Harry talk to him? Or Zayn? Or Niall?

“Sometimes I think you guys hate me,” Harry blurts out, his cheeks quickly reddening, eyes nervously darting between Liam and the floor.

_“What?”_

Harry takes a deep breath. “I do. I feel like I’ve waltzed into your lives. The four of you are so good together, and isn’t it unfair of me to just expect to jump right in?”

“Harry…” Liam starts.

“I’m so careful around you guys because I’m constantly worried of what you think of me. I want to be good enough for you guys. I don’t want to just be Harry the weird boy from Louis’ dreams, but a part of what you guys have,” Harry says, practically running out of breath.

“But, you’re so quiet sometimes,” Liam says, gently. “Without Louis, at least.”

“I just don’t want to mess up in front of you guys. I just need you guys to like me,” Harry replies sheepishly, feeling smaller than ever before.

“But Harry!” Liam scoots closer. “That’s not important! You shouldn’t change who you are, or act differently because of us. You shouldn’t...you shouldn’t seek validation from us. That’s not a way to live your life.”

Harry sits back, allowing Liam’s words to sink in. Maybe he had built up a wall for nothing, maybe Liam is right. Had he given too much emphasis on impressing Niall, Liam, and Zayn?

“But for the record,” Liam continues, a little self-consciously at first, “we do...we do appreciate you. Very much. Niall often tells me how much he loves the way you set an extra plate for him, even if he comes home late. He likes that you care about his travels and that you know how to make his tea. And Zayn likes that you actually listen to him ramble about a book or an art project he’s working on when the rest of us zone out. He likes that you keep a copy of Great Expectations on the coffee table. And me...I’m just glad you’re here. We all are. I like you, Harry.”

Another voice speaks up. “Yeah, mate. Let us like you for who you really are, not what you think you should be.”

It’s Niall, leaning against the entryway of the kitchen.

“Did you hear everything?” Harry asks meekly.

“As much as I could,” he says, strolling over to take a seat next to Harry. “I was busy cooking my _own_ dateless meal. Although, Liam is right. I love when you cook for us three. Well, just you and I, lately.”

“Yes,” Liam continues, “about that... Are you and Louis good?” He adds nervously, “You still love him, right?”

Harry startles, mouth parted in disbelief. That’s not even a question.

“Of course, I do. He’s everything.” Niall and Liam’s posture sag in relief, while Harry’s gaze becomes lost on the floor, a smile creeping on his lips. He’s been remembering bits and pieces from his past. He wasn’t out like he thought he was. But he always believed that he would find someone who’d help with that. That’s Louis. He set him free. He loves him, always will.

“Then what’s bothering you?” Liam asks.

When Harry doesn’t answer, Niall nudges him. “C’mon. We want Louis to be happy, but we want you to be happy, as well.”

_My head hurts, and I’m nervous all the time. I’m worried that it’s Louis who will stop loving me. I’m worried that he’s light years ahead of me. I’m worried that I’m tying him down, and I’m worried that I’ll never regain my past. I’m worried that I’m not really who I thought I was. Not who Louis thinks I am._

All these thoughts rush through Harry’s mind. But instead, he says, “I’d rather not say.”

Because even if his friendship with Liam, Niall, and Zayn is seeing leaps and bounds in just a single conversation, he’d still like to keep this to him.

Rather than pressing Harry further, Niall and Liam take Harry’s word for what it is. Liam ruffles Harry’s hair, and Niall throws a comforting arm around his shoulder. He’s reminded of the time when Niall had preached to Harry about not hurting Louis. But now, Harry supposes, Niall’s protection extends to him, too.

He feels like his heart could burst.

“Well don’t be sad,” Liam says, shaking Harry. “And if you ever are, just remember that a T-Rex has small arms, so they can’t give hugs.”

“That’s fucked up, Liam.”

Liam ignores Niall, turning to Harry. “But honestly, Harry. Stop living for the world and start living for yourself. Once you do that, everything will fall into place.”

After that, they have lunch. Just the three of them.

 

***

 

“Yes, Ed. I’m on my way,” Harry groans into his phone. It’s almost like a circus act, trying to juggle his cell in between his shoulder and his ear, all while deciphering the messily scribbled directions that Ed had left him.

Turning onto the next street, he grips the worn wheel of his secondhand car, his neck tensing as he tries to accommodate Ed on the line.

“Shoulda been here ages ago, mate.” Ed’s voice blares into Harry’s ear, mixed with a symphony of pub night chaos. He can pick up a collage of various conversations, the clinking of mugs, and the gentle strummings of an amplified guitar. “I can see your girl from across the pub. I think she thinks you’ve ditched.”

“She’s not my girl,” Harry mumbles, squinting his eyes at every passing sign. The streets are poorly lit tonight, and the night sky is heavily clouded. The moon must be hiding tonight.

“Could be,” Ed replies in a sing-song tone. “Maybe she's the one. The one who can unlock the door to Harry Styles’ heart, finally.”

Harry grimaces. “Maybe.” Except not. These set up dates usually go like this: Harry will buy the girl a drink or two. They’ll swap life stories, make small talk, have a nice laugh, and then halfway through, the girl will realize that Harry is probably definitely gay. But she won’t mind. In fact, she’ll smile and carry on, because girls are nice like that, Harry has learned. They’re all-knowing, sweet and accepting. Next, Harry will make sure that they get home safely, and sometimes, they’ll exchange numbers.

But nothing beyond that. They both know it’s all for show, and his uni friends, like Ed, are satisfied with what they’re given.

However, it’s Harry’s last year in university, and Gemma is right, this charade is getting old.

“Tell her not to worry,” Harry says, “I’ll be there soon.”

But Gemma’s words still ring bright in his head.

_“Tonight’s the night. You’re going to meet a guy who’ll make you forget. Someone who will love you and free you.”_

Maybe.

He’d like that.

Ed scoffs. “You better! You’re already missing my opening act. He’s absolutely brilliant. You’d love him. His name’s Ni—”

“Shit.” The next road he turns on is alarmingly dark. Like, why aren’t any streetlights working tonight? “Ed, I’m about to turn into the street, and it’s fucking dark in this one. I’m already risking my safety by talking to you.”

Ed laughs. “You’re a champ, but please hang up. Don’t get into any accidents, then.”

“I won’t.”

“Love ya, mate. See you soon.”

He reaches for his phone tucked in the crook of his shoulder when he hears the line go flat, but when he does, a bump in the road causes his phone to fly, bouncing off his knee and into the mysterious depths of his car’s messy floor.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, eyes darting between the black, seemingly empty road and car floor. He reaches an arm down, scrambling to find his cell, but he ends up grabbing more empty water bottles then not.

“Dear Harry,” he mumbles, voice straining as one hand grips the wheel, and the other continues to  search blindly, “please clean your car. Oh gee, thanks Harry. Will fucking do.”

Oh fine, he thinks to himself. Dipping his head, he chances a look onto the floor, and _of course_. Of-fucking-course his phone is right next to his foot. He grabs it, cheering to himself.

Time to haul ass before Ed’s performances.

He presses harder on the gas as he snaps his head up, but when he does, he makes out a white blob with a tail and ears, staring back at Harry with panicked eyes.

_“NO!”_

A jolt of fear strikes Harry deep in his chest. There’s not enough time; with one hand on the wheel, he rapidly veers to the left.

It happens in seconds, but to Harry, it’s like slow-motion. Like a strobe light is flashing image after image after image of every single moment.

A car honks, loud and elongated, and blinding headlights wrap him in white.

He feels his car being pummeled into with a resounding crash, and he’s spinning. He breaks, but it does nothing but make a deafening, screeching  noise.

His tires scream—or maybe he’s screaming—and he spins until the front of his car collides into something.

His head violently jerks back and then forward, plowing into the steering wheel with a force that could split a mountain into two. Glass shatters all around him, pelting him like sharp, icy rain. Something explodes. It’s dark.

And then he awakens. The pain hits him all at once. The smell of smoke wafts around the breaking glass, the hot metal.

Where is he?

He’s hit something—or someone. No, _something_. Thank God.

He tastes something dense and metallic on his lips, his tongue. The same crimson oozes down his forehead. The pain is brutal. He tries to speak but nothing comes out.

And it’s so quiet. Eerily quiet. Someone is banging on the webbed window, yelling. But he doesn’t hear it. Everything is muffled.

The pain begins to subside, and Harry _sees_.

Through bright colors and foggy edges, he sees a field that he runs around in and there’s a girl chasing him. His sister. _That’s your sister._ His mum is lying in bed with him and he’s telling her a story. His father is taking him out for ice cream and he’s holding his sister’s hand. There’s a boy, and they’re friends. They laugh, until Harry kisses him. Then he runs away. _Who am I?_ He sees piles of journals and inky hands. He sees a guitar and the hands of a friend. He sees a pinned up article and his family gathered around for a picture. His mum is so proud of him. He sees birthdays and laughter and loved ones. _I’m dying._ And then he’s back again, at the field. He sees flowers, trees, and clouds; a place to dance in; a place to lie perfectly content in; a place to escape. And then he sees...a boy.

And he’s smiling at him.

And he’s beautiful.

The world is quiet, and Harry sees light.

 

______

 

There’s a banging at their bedroom door. The noise causes Harry to leap out of bed, sweat trickling down his forehead. His hand comes up to clutch his ferociously pounding heart. Where is he? Where the fuck is he?

“Harry, get your ass up, mate!”

The throbbing in his head is like shards of glass falling on him, and Niall’s voice is like screeching tires.

_Niall._

Harry is in their flat; he’s safe. It was an awful dream. A terrible memory. A memory that has been absent in his mind, a blank space in history. A terrible, painful, jarring memory that he should have remembered. After all, it’s brought him here. It’s the cause of everything.

However, now that he’s remembered, he can’t get it out of his mind. It’s embedded in him, spinning Harry in a web, and he wants to throw up.

Niall barges in, and Harry does everything to collect himself, evening his breaths, pushing sticky hair away from his forehead.

“For fuck’s sake, Harry,” Niall groans as he takes in Harry’s current state. “You’re not even dressed yet. No naps for you, anymore. Hurry up, then. The power couple will be here to pick us up soon.”

That’s right. It’s closing night, and afterwards, they’ll be meeting Louis at Simon’s lavish penthouse for a party. Niall himself is dressed in a fitted suit and tie, hair spiked up and smelling strongly of aftershave. Fun. A party. Just what he needs right now.

Harry can’t bring himself to move, so Niall huffs before trudging to his and Louis’ shared dresser. “I can’t believe I’m dressin’ you right now.”

Clothes fly over his head, landing in various spots around the room. Harry does not reply, instead, he tries to calm the storm that’s swelling deep inside him. He has to be okay.

Niall’s back faces Harry. He sighs, regarding Harry’s silence. “Look, Harry,” he breathes out, piling a stack of clothes for Harry to put on. “I’m sorry I called Liam and Zayn the power couple. It’s you and Tommo. We all know that.”

Somehow, Harry chuckles. Empty, but it’s a reaction. When he looks up, Niall is staring at Harry’s reflection in the mirror in front of him. A deep expression is etched on his face, furrowed brows and bright blue eyes.

 _“Harry,”_ he says slowly. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he manages to say, walking over to Niall. He places a reassuring  hand on his shoulder. The look he gives Niall is meant to comfort him, but somehow it comforts Harry, too. His facade starts to crumble under Niall’s earnesty.

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m not,” he concedes. Softer, “I’m not.”

He grabs the dress shirt from Niall’s hands, ignoring the blonde boy’s concerned face. Instead, he begins to dress himself, waiting for Niall to say something that he will most likely snub.

Finally, Niall speaks. “Can you talk to me about it?”

“Nightmare,” he says nonchalantly, slipping on a blazer that Niall hands him. “A memory. About the accident.”

Niall’s eyes widen. “Oh?” His voice is wary. “Does that nightmare happen often?”

He dabs a touch of cologne on his wrists, rubbing it behind both ears as Niall watches him expectantly. He wonders if he should go deeper, sit down and explain everything to him—but he might cry. He’ll probably break down, and nobody can see that.

Harry brushes past him with a shuddering breath, through the hall and into the living room where he can wait for Liam’s car. Niall doesn’t miss a step. He’s next to Harry in a matter of seconds, pressing into his side, silently awaiting Harry’s answer.

Finally, Harry shuts his eyes, drawing a defeated breath. “It was the first.” He looks at Niall, and he sniffs, feeling his eyes prickle with wetness. _No, Harry, stop_. He sucks it all in. “I didn’t remember it in detail until now. I felt it all over again, Niall.”

Immediately, Niall pulls out his phone. “I’ll call Louis. You should tell him. Maybe we can meet him later at the penthouse. Or we can skip the party and call it a day. He’ll understand. Shit like that is serious…”

Niall is rambling, scrolling through his contacts, and Harry watches with fear as he stops at Louis’ name. He cries out, yanking the phone out of Niall’s grasp. “No! Don’t! I’ll be okay!”

“But, Harry—”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Harry says, even smiling to satisfy Niall. “I could use a party, actually.”

Niall eyes Harry up and down before resolving. “Sure. But promise me you’ll tell Louis when you see him? Everything.”

“Everything?”

“There’s something deep going on here.” Niall gestures to Harry, waving a finger at him. “If you don’t let it out, it’s gonna consume you.”

He nods in response, knowing full well that whatever is happening deep inside him, whatever stirred emotions, whatever painful memories, it can stay there.

Especially tonight. Tonight is Louis’ night. They’re all meant to be celebrating, and he isn’t going to ruin it. More importantly, it’s crucial that tonight goes well, since he feels that Louis might be upset with him.

It was fine all morning, but when quiet came, Louis had looked up at him, head in Harry’s lap. Their bed was their solace before and after a busy day at the theatre. He had looked up at Harry and said:

“Let’s talk some more. How are you? Everything good? Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m great. Fine,” he had replied quickly. There was truth to his words. With Louis in his arms, he really is more than fine. But, he himself is...not.

“Really? That’s it?”

“Of course.”

Louis had been distant the rest of the day, sharing a meek goodbye before trudging off to his closing performance.

Harry needs to make it up to him, whatever is bothering Louis.

Harry’s phone vibrates in his hands, jolting him from his thoughts.

“It’s Liam,” Harry says, silently reading the text. “He’s here. Shall we?”

“Okay,” Niall drawls out, hesitant, watching as Harry pushes past him. “Let’s get your proper partied up, then.”

 

___

 

The alcohol tastes bitter in his mouth, and not in a pleasurable way.

Harry feels sick.

Simon’s penthouse is extravagant, sitting pretty on the top floor of a high rise building. His brick walls are littered with different posters from various productions, and above him, chandeliers dangle in varying positions. The room is aglow, the atmosphere is buzzing, and all around him, there is a laughter, music, and chatter.

And here, Harry occupies a solitary bar stool. He lost Louis to a couple of his fellow actors, and one drink in, and Harry is already sick of the party. He slides his glass across the bar, the sight of it causing his stomach to flip.

“Well.” He hears a voice say next to him. “This is not the party that I was expecting.”

Harry turns, and Niall is clumsily falling onto the stool next to him, loosening his tie. “Look at all these sophisticated people, with their light jazz and champagne. Where can I get a fuckin’ decent pint around here?”

Harry acknowledges Niall, shooting him an apologetic smile as Zayn saunters over with an arm over Liam’s shoulders. “Artists,” Zayn adds. “Can’t fucking stand them.”

Niall’s brow furrows. “You’re an artist, Zayn.”

“A _different_ kind of artist, Niall,” he grumbles, rolling his eyes while Liam secretly exchanges a look of support for Niall.

“How are you feeling, H?” Liam says, taking a seat next to Harry. “Niall told us about…Have you told Louis, yet?”

Harry shakes his head, eyes scanning the crowd for Louis.

“Harry!” Niall gasps. “You said you would! The first chance you got!”

Harry groans, impatience settling in. “Well, do you see him around, Niall? He’s been quite occupied since he left the stage door. And it doesn’t matter anyway. I told you. I’m okay, now.”

Silence washes over the bar. Until Zayn says, “You sure about that, mate?”

Harry only nods.

“I hope so,” Zayn continues. “Because your soul—”

His shoulders tense up. He bites back an annoyed moan. “Not the soul stuff, Zayn. Not now.”

In a place where dreams were all Harry and Louis had, and in their world filled with miraculous happenstances and all-consuming love, Zayn’s soulmate theory makes sense. Harry believes it. Louis strongly believes it. How else could all of this happen?

But right now, this is reality. And in reality, Harry is feeling himself being torn apart bit by bit. His skin tingles, his head hurts, and the pieces of his life aren’t slotting perfectly together.

“I agree with Harry,” Niall chimes. “If I have to hear another metaphor comparing Louis and Harry to pieces of the universe—the sun, the moon, the stars, or the fucking gum on the sidewalk—I will seriously—”

Zayn smacks Niall. _“Niall, please.”_ He pushes past him so that he’s standing directly in front of Harry. His deep brown eyes bore into him, his stance unwavering, confident. Harry listens. “I believe in you, Harry Styles. I believed in you when you were just a figure in Louis’ dreams, and I believe in you now. And I bet,” he presses a finger into Harry’s chest, “that the soul that’s hidden here will be horribly disappointed because there’s a soul out there that it loves deeply, and right now, they’re not in sync. For whatever reason.” He glances between the crowded foyer and Harry, before resting a hand on the nape of his neck. “And it’s up to their current bodies, their minds, their hearts to fix this. Please. Whatever it takes.”

Harry shrugs Zayn’s hand away, downcasted gaze dropping to the floor. He can hear Liam mutter to Zayn, can see Zayn’s shoes shuffle away from his vision.

_“Let him be...let’s call it a night…”_

When he looks up, the crowd has cleared.

And he sees Louis; bright as ever and standing in the middle of a circle. His eyes light up the room and his animated gestures sends his circle of friends reeling in laughter. It’s easy for Louis. To attract people with his utter magnetism, to set the whole fucking room ablaze with his everything.

He so perfect, but so out of reach for Harry. He’s right across the room, but he feels miles away from him. Harry’s skin begin to crawl as he watches Louis work the room some more, bouncing from foot to foot. How can someone so unparalleled belong to Harry? Louis is complete, his life is ahead of him, and the only thing weighing him down is Harry.

He’s a fucking sinking boat, his emotions are riled, his past is a jumbled mess, and dammit, that can’t be fair to Louis.

Louis whose pealing laughter can be heard from across the room, Louis who is truth and nothing but the truth, Louis who is set for life. Louis is more than Harry can ever be, and he’s afraid he won’t be able to catch up. Maybe Louis is realizing this, too. That must explain the tense goodbye.

He’s going to be sick. He jumps from his stool, and the room starts to spin.

Niall, Liam, and Zayn notice him, focus snapping away from their own huddle.

“Bathroom,” Harry chokes out, before weaving his way through guests and caterers.

He throws open the nearest door, and thank god, it’s the bathroom. He falls onto the counter, hands gripping the sink.

 _Breathe._ _You’re fine. You’re fine._ His eyes begin to brim with tears until he scrubs them away. His skin feels like fire, and his limbs feel like they could fall under his weight at any seconds.

His vision returns to focus and he stares straight ahead. His reflection in the mirror in front of him is startling. His face is pale—and _the scars_. They stretch across his face, contrasting against the pallor of his skin.

It’s like he’s seeing them for the first time.

These are the scars that he woke up with. The boy in the mirror is different from his memories and different from his dreamland, and at this moment, he feels so utterly lost in his own mind.

How could anybody love that?

Harry fights for breath, bolting out of the bathroom. He just needs to lie down and be away from this all. Maybe Liam hasn’t left yet. He can catch a ride home with the rest of the lads.  But when he gets to the bar, all the boys are gone. Maybe he can pocket Louis’ keys since he has plenty of friends who’d offer him a ride home—but no. Harry can’t drive. He won’t drive.

A hand clutches his shoulder, ripping him from the voice screaming in his mind.

“There you are.”

He turns, and there’s Louis, eyes glazed with the thrill of closing night, tilting his head in thought as he stares at Harry. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Harry can’t find the words to speak. He’s looking at Louis, and he’s absolutely breathless with his current wave of emotions and the love that he fucking feels for this boy.

When Harry makes no move to reply, Louis continues, “Liam just left with the boys. I don’t think they were enjoying themselves. Can’t say I blame them.” He chuckles, loosens his own tie, and shoots Harry a cautious look. “Are...are you enjoying yourself?”

Harry quickly nods, and the motion causes Harry to feel sick again. Louis pauses. “Liam said that you had something to tell me?”

First he thinks, dammit Liam. Then next, he’s blurting: “I want to go home.”

Louis’ expression drops, and even though Harry is the cause of it, he doesn’t feel guilty this time. He has to be away from here.

 _“Right now?_ Are you okay?” Louis treads with the question carefully, but nonetheless, confused.

“Just wanna be home.”

Louis scans Harry. The hand that rests on his shoulder slowly drops. “That’s—that’s fine. Of course.” Louis fishes inside his pocket, producing the keys to his car. He drops them into Harry’s palm, and the small object burns his skin. “Why don’t you wait for me in the car? I’ll just make sure Simon knows I’m heading out.”

Harry nods and mumbles a short thank you. The stare that they give one another is long, time-stopping, almost. Until, finally, Louis turns to let Harry go.

 

_____

 

There is an immediate sense of relief when Harry sits alone in Louis’ car. Resting against the seat, his eyes are shut, and his breaths slow. _In and out,_ he thinks to himself. _Breathe_.

His skin itches, the swell of apprehension pricking him like needles. His throat burns with words that aren’t being said. His chest aches with hopelessness, and his heart lurches, confused by the rise and fall of his emotions.

“Hi.”

The car door is slammed shut, and when Harry turns, Louis is looking at him, silenced with anticipation. Immediately, the small space is filled with Louis’ scent, warm, soothing. It’s dark outside with clouded skies and poorly lit streets, but Louis naturally glows in front of him. His eyes, clear and focused on Harry, are planets in their own galaxy.

How can he hurt when someone so unearthly sits next to him?

Harry’s mouth turns up in a grateful smile, the sight of which, causes Louis to simply nod before turning to the wheel. His hand pauses, staying frozen by the ignition.

Louis turns his attention back towards Harry. “Are you sure that’s all you had to say to me? Liam made it seem...”

_Don’t tell him. Make him believe you’re okay._

“I just wanted to go home.” Harry shrugs, turning to look out the window as to not give himself away. “That’s all.”

“Oh.”

The car starts, and they drive in silence.

Every few minutes, Harry will look at Louis, pursed lips and eyes on the road. The quietness is eery. Usually, their car rides are filled with endless chatter, and even if they were to become caught with nothing to talk about, Louis would start to hum or sing under his breath, lulling Harry into a sense of peace.

Right now, they are not at peace.

“Road is wet,” Louis finally says. “Must’ve rained tonight.”

Something unpleasant claws at the pit of Harry’s stomach. “Yeah. Be careful.”

Louis’ hands grip the steering wheel. “Of course.” Then he spares a look at Harry before his features drop in defeat. He sighs, letting out a long held breath. “Liam told me something yesterday.”

Harry’s breath hitches, fingers curling tightly around his knees. “Oh?”

“He said you’ve been having problems fitting in with us,” he begins apprehensively, “and that you’ve been constantly worried of their opinion of you.”

Louis’ words knock him back, and it’s then that Harry realizes that they’ve been taking the long way home.

In Harry’s shock, Louis rambles on. “I just don’t understand, and I don’t mean to be the one to bring it up, but ever since Liam told me this, I’ve been waiting for you talk, you know? But you’ve been denying and now we’re here and something’s wrong.” He pauses. “So, is it true?”

Hesitant at first, Harry relents, letting out a quiet, _“Yes.”_

Louis swallows thickly. “But Harry...it’s Liam, Zayn, and Niall. I mean, _how?_ ”

“You’re upset.”

“No,” Louis responds quickly. “I’m upset that you felt that way for a long time. I’m upset that you felt like you couldn’t act normally around my friends!”

“ _Your_ friends,” Harry emphasizes.

“They’re yours too, Harry, you know that,” Louis chides. “And they don’t hate you. How could you think that?”

“You don’t understand.”

“I know. That’s why I’m asking.”

A tense silence cuts through the air. Harry begins to feel a new unease, like the slow burn at the edges of a once beautiful photograph.

“I just really cared about how they saw me, okay?” He says sharply. “I know how much you love them, and how much they love you! Fuck, sometimes that was all we talked about in our dreams—how protective you guys are over each other. I mean, I felt that the minute I woke up. The way they looked at me. I kept feeling that I was stepping on something.”

“And that you couldn’t be yourself?” Louis asks, incredulous. “Harry, even if they did feel that way, I wouldn’t let them. You’re...it’s you. Over everything. I don’t think I could see them as my friends if they couldn’t accept you. Don’t you know that?”

Harry scoffs. “And I’d feel guilty.”

Louis blinks at Harry with disbelief, desperately trying to continue the conversation, eyes darting between the road and Harry. “Even then? It matters _that_ much to you—what we feel about you?”

“Well, yeah. And?”

He shakes his head. “I just...you didn’t seem like the kind of person who cared about stuff like that.”

Harry’s heart dips, feeling as if Louis has just discovered a giant flaw in Harry, that maybe Harry isn’t everything his dreams made him out to be.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, throat tightening. He sits up straighter, saying firmly, “but that’s just the way I am.”

“But why?” Louis says, exasperated. “Why do you care so much? Why does it matter what others—”

“I don’t know!” Harry snaps, momentarily surprised by his own reaction. “I don’t know, Lou! I didn’t think I was either, but then I woke up, and it’s like I don’t know anything!”

He doesn’t know why certain things matter to him. He doesn’t know why Gemma cries when Harry doesn’t greet her the right way. He doesn’t know how to put his thoughts onto paper. He doesn’t know why his parents aren’t together anymore. He can’t comprehend why he feels the need to make everyone happy. He can’t fathom why he would ever think that Louis could possible give up on him.

But their voices are rising, and the idea of Louis pushing the brakes on them becomes too real.  “What do you mean, Harry? What’s going on with you?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says abruptly, crossing his arms in defiance.

“Right. Of course,” Louis says through gritted teeth, biting back a bark of breathless laughter. His cheeks are sucked in, the cut of his cheekbones are sharp this way. His slender fingers tap incessantly on the wheel, and his caramel colored hair swoops beautifully across his forehead.  “I mean, you already decided to not talk to me about you and the guys. We might as well continue with pretending you’re okay.”

“Are you upset about that, too?” Harry says, head throbbing with pain. He can’t believe they’re arguing right now. He can’t believe that the edge in their voices are directed towards each other. “That I chose to not tell you about my problems? Really?”

“As if I shouldn’t be?” Louis snaps his head towards Harry, his features set deep with astonishment. “How do you think I felt when fucking Liam had to tell me this? And when I gave you the chance to open up, you still strongly denied it. Me.”

Harry chooses to look out at the road, unable to see the way Louis stares at him with disappointment. Despite that, he can still feel Louis’ eyes burning him.

“The boys and I are fine,” he mutters. “Let’s just drop it. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“That’s not it. There’s something else. I don’t know if it’s me, Haz. If I did something wrong. I feel—I mean— _fuck_ , aren’t we supposed to trust each other? You and I, we’ve always…”

They’ve been driving in almost complete darkness in what seems like frozen time. The only light is provided by their headlights. As Louis’ voice digs in his ear, he attempts to make out their surroundings. There’s the park to the right, and to the left, there’s the bakery him and Louis like to frequent on their early mornings. They should be home soon.

He begins to think that they’re the only ones driving on their quiet block, until, he makes out stark white car rolling along in front of them.

_Wait._

It’s not moving.

The car is parked. In the middle of the lane and— _why isn’t Louis stopping?_ He should notice by now, Harry thinks anxiously, breath catching in his throat. When their car doesn’t slow, he chances a look at Louis—he's _still_ staring at Harry, mouth parted in mid-sentence.

 _“Louis!”_ He seizes the fabric of his shirt. “Look at the fucking road!”

When he sees Louis’ eyes bulge as he turns, he know it’s too late.

_“Shit!”_

The tires screech, like a banshee scream in Harry’s ears. He feels his heart being ripped from his chest. Hands flying to his eyes, he squeezes them shut, until he hears the inevitable crash of metal on metal. They both cry out as Harry lurches forward and back in his seat, teeth digging into his lips.

He hears nothing but the sound of his own blood rushing in his ear, a buzzing in his skull. He expect his world to go white, but when he opens his eyes, he doesn’t see a folded car hood or heavy clouds of gray smoke. Just a barely busted up hood and the mangled bumper of the car in front of them.

Next to him, Louis breaths heavily, clutching the wheel with white knuckles. He turns to Harry, eyes blown up in terror.

 _“Holy shit,”_ he breathes out, rapidly, “holy fucking shit. Are you alright, love? Fuck, that could’ve been bad. _Very bad._ What the fuck is this car doing out here. Fuck.” The car is shifted into park. Harry can barely make out Louis’ words over the sound of his own hurried breaths, the pounding of his heart, and the sound of shattering glass replaying in the back of his mind, like a distant memory.

Louis continues to commentate despite Harry’s lack of focus. “Wait, why is their car door opening— _holy shit_ , somebody was inside? Oh christ, they look angry. Fuck, I have to deal with this don’t I? Shit, be right back.”

He leaves, and Harry immediately feels his absence. He can hardly make out the back and forth yelling happening outside. It doesn’t really matter to him.

Instead, he tastes something metallic on his lips.

It’s familiar.

This is all too familiar.

He gasps loudly when the image in front of him warps into that of a lamp post. He sees smoke. He can feel the heat burn his skin; he can feel sharp bits of glass pelting him. And he hears it over and over again— _the crash_. Like a gunshot to his skull, over and over again, painfully opening fire into his mind. He grips tightly to the car door, trying to shake the sound away.

He thinks he hears the car door open again, but the surging panic inside of him drowns everything out.

_“The stupid fuck stopped in the middle of the lane to answer a text. We exchanged numbers to sort it out later. Atleast we’re all okay, though. Only minor damages to the car and all. Figure we should be good to drive home.”_

_“Harry?"_

Harry feels his chest rise and fall rapidly. Throat tightening, he gulps for breath, fingers twisting tightly through the fabric of his shirt.

_“Haz, what’s going on? Are you—Harry!”_

Gentle fingers curl around his shoulder, and Harry snaps.

“Don’t touch me!” He shrieks. “Don’t fucking touch me!”

“Oh god, _I’m sorry_! Harry, I’m _so_ sorry!”

He turns, surprised to see Louis, pupils wide with guilt and frozen in shock. Oh. He looks into the iridescent blue of Louis’ eyes, and instantly, Harry eases into his surroundings. He turns to the front and there’s no lamp post. In fact, the car they had bumped into is long gone. The ring of grating metal stops suddenly, his skin begins to cool, and his chest begins to loosen.

He brings a hand to his heart, feeling its beating slow to even pumps. It’s over. He’ okay.

They’re okay.

He glances back at Louis. His hand still hovers where Harry had recoiled from his jarring touch, and his eyes hide traces of what looks like hurt. Ashamed, Harry has to tear his gaze away.

Louis slowly nods, expression morphing into confusion as he turns back to the road, hand falling to rest on the gear, the other, on the steering wheel. His eyes travel down Harry’s face, stopping at where Harry’s mouth parts.

Louis slowly reaches his hand out once again. “You’re blee—” He stops, a hasty decision passes over his face. He remembers the way Harry had snapped, and his hand falls back to the gear. This time, Louis tears his gaze away, focusing on the flashing light of his turn signal.

“Home,” Harry manages to choke out.

“Okay,” Louis replies, softly.

The rest of the car ride is silent.

 

_____

 

Harry doesn’t mean to, but when he trails behind Louis as they enter their flat, he slams the door shut.

Both he and Louis jump.

They are both on edge.

He hears Louis sigh to himself. He watches the way Louis’ shoulders sag; the way he takes little steps forward before freezing on one spot on their carpeted floor; the way he runs a hand through his frazzled hair; the way the moon from their window casts a special glow on him.

It hurts—looking at Louis. Seeing him crestfallen, at a loss. He hopes to go to sleep and wake up to normalcy, to go back to pretending.

“I’m going to go to bed,” Harry mutters to Louis’ back, watching it go rigid as Harry speaks.

“To bed?” Louis says, voice low. He turns to Harry, a wounded expression washing over his face. “We’re not going to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” Harry’s gaze finds the floor as he makes a poor attempt at feigning innocence.

Louis repeats incredulously, “ _Talk about what?_ Harry, are you really trying to avoid what just happened?”

“Nothing happ—”

Louis’ voice rises. “ _Enough_. No more lies.”

“I’m not lying to you,” Harry snaps back, except, he’s blatantly lying to his face. They both know this.

 _“In the car,”_ Louis replies exasperatedly, hands reaching up to clutch his hair. His tone matches Harry’s. “Just tell me what happened in the car!”

Harry steps forward, shooting Louis a warning look. “Do not shout, Lou. You’ll wake up Niall.”

They hear a door close. A streak of blonde dressed in sweats and carrying a backpack whooshes past them in a blur. Red faced, he rushes straight to the front door.

_“Toolatei’llbeatLiamandZayn’shaveanicechat—BYE!”_

The front door is hurriedly shut, and Harry and Louis are left alone.

They stare at each other from opposite sides of the living room, waiting for the other to speak. A familiar sight. Harry thinks back to a time in their dreams where Louis stood across from him in the meadow, rain streaking down their bodies. Harry was angry, the most he had ever been at Louis. At the moment, he thought that would be the first and last time he’d feel that way towards him.

Now, as they eye each other with furrowed brows and weighted silence, he supposes otherwise.

Finally, Harry lets out a breath. “It was the first time it happened, okay? When you hit that car...I sorta blanked out, I guess. It was like being dropped back into my accident. I felt everything.”

“Harry…”

“I thought I was dying again,” he mutters, scuffing his toes into the carpet.

“You remember?” Louis asks. “The accident?”

The doctor had told them that he might not remember some moments, the accident being one of them. Louis’ surprise is warranted.

Harry nods.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Louis says softly. “ _Were_ you going to tell me?”

“I—” He pauses, stopping himself from another lie. His eyes meet the floor. “No.” He gathers a pinch of courage, enough to meet Louis’ hurt stare. “No. I didn’t plan on it.”

“Why?” Harry doesn’t respond. He can’t find the words. “How bad is it? Everything. _You._ How are you _really_ feeling?”

Louis waits, staring down Harry’s impenetrable silence. “My head hurts often. Sometimes the medicine helps, but some days are worse. Those days happen when I feel the accident—even if I never remembered it until now, I always felt its impact. Like, I’d be reminded of just how out of the loop I am. With you and the boys. With my family, school, myself. I feel terrible when I remember how broken I am.”

“Often?” Louis repeats, nervously.

“Everyday.”

The way Louis reclines his head back, shaking his head with eye tightly shut braces Harry for what is to come. “Everyday. And you _never_ told me.”

“Well you didn’t notice,” Harry interjects, causing Louis to frown at Harry, brow set with frustration.  

“That is not fair,” he argues, stepping forward.

“No,” Harry replies, gesturing between him and Louis. The frustration in him causes his voice to waver as he speaks. “What’s not fair is _this_! You and I. I wake up from a coma and you get to live and be happy. Me? I’m stuck. You get to move on, Louis! I don’t. I’m stuck trying to regain parts of my past while you have everything you need. You have your friends, your job, your family. They were always here waiting for you.”

Louis crosses his arms, voice straining. “You really think so?”

Harry rests a hand on his heart, nodding. “I’m not okay.” He points a finger at Louis. “But you are. You think I would take that away from you? _You’re_ fine. I’m not going to ruin you.”

 _“Ruin me?”_ Niall once told Harry how frightening Louis is when he’s hyper emotional, violently impassioned. Harry can see it now. He looks into Louis’ eyes, and they’re like kindling to an open flame. He is firm in the way he stands, in the way his voice comes out, low and free of nervous tremors. “You think _I_ had it easy—that I’m the one who came out scott free? I thought you were _dead_ , Harry. For days, I thought I had lost the love of my life. You hurt now, but I’ve hurt, too. I didn’t know pain until I believed I would _never_ see you again. So don’t tell me that this isn’t fucking fair.”

That’s true, Harry thinks. He wouldn’t know if he could go on if he thought Louis had been ripped away from his life.

“You’re right,” Harry says. He attempts to comfort him. “But I’m here, okay? I just—this is about moving forward. You are going places. Your future is so bright. Dammit, you are a star, Louis, constantly taking leaps and bounds. I can’t do that. I can’t move forward. I don’t know how and if I can! I can’t imagine how my life before fits with who I am now, okay? And it kills me. It’s like my skin is not my skin! I dunno, I just feel hopeless, and you deserve more than that.”

Louis is taken aback, sputtering at Harry. He’s not sure if Louis is confused, angered, shocked, or everything combined. All he is sure of is that he’d rather be done with this. Leave before they hurt each other even further.

He pivots, making for their bedroom, turning into the hallway without sparing a glance at Louis. He doesn’t have to. He knows he’s following.

Louis spits at his heels, voice rising as he trails after Harry. “Don’t tell me what I do and don’t deserve. Don’t sacrifice parts of yourself to make me happy and don’t protect me by pushing us further apart.”

Harry turns away, and they’re standing on opposite sides of the doorway, Harry in the bedroom and Louis in the hallway. This is the closest they’ve been since they arrived, standing toe to toe.

He’s quick to reply. “You just can’t believe it because you’re the one who’s been going out all the time. You’re the one who is always busy. I lied to you about being fine, but only because I thought that’s what you needed to hear.”

Harry doesn’t know where he’s going with this. He doesn’t want to blame Louis. This isn’t his fault. It’s just two diverging roads.

Is this what couples do? He never imagined them arguing like this.

“You’re angry,” Louis says quietly, a frown setting on his face as scans Harry.

Harry takes a deep breath. “I’m not angry.” Angry isn’t the word. There is no resentment in what he’s been feeling. There is no vexed emotions towards anyone.  He pauses. “I’m unhappy.”

Louis’ eyes meets the ground, biting down a sob. He says with a breaking voice, ”That’s even worse.”

They stand there in still silence, so quiet that he can hear each teardrop fall onto the floor. He brings a hand to his own face and realizes his cheeks are streaked as well. When Louis meets Harry’s eyes, he sees how deep they are. A dark blue, with little flecks of moonlight, shining with wetness. That’s the color of Louis’ sadness.

Fear sets in for the both of them as they gaze into one another in silence. They’re both thinking: _What does this mean? Where do we go?_

An inkling in Harry tells him that he needs to step back, that he needs to go home. He thinks about leaving a note in the morning, catching a train to his mum’s. Yeah. That’s what he’ll do.

Until then, he wants to go to sleep with the hope that maybe a good night’s rest could bring them some peace again.

“Lou...when I said that I was unhappy, please know that it’s about me. Not about you. I’m unhappy because of myself. You’re a piece to the puzzle, but Louis, you’re the only one that fits.” He reaches out to touch Louis’ hand, and it lays gently on top of Harry’s. “Can we pause for now? Come with me to bed.”

Louis lets his hand drop.

“I don’t know, Harry,” he says with a rasped voice. “I think I need some time to think. I’m going to...I’m going to sleep somewhere else.”

Okay. That’s okay.

It amazes Harry, how even in this moment, standing in uncertainty, soaking in tempered emotions, the two of them are still in sync. The next breath they take is one, lifting the whole space up until it slowly descends.

"You never had to pretend for me, Harry."

One last look and Louis turns away. He hears Louis mumble a goodnight as Niall’s door clicks, and Harry hums in response.

Even as they lay in separate places of the house, even though they feel miles away, Harry can still feel him—close. They are thinking the same thoughts, playing said words over and over again in their heads. They let it all sink in, trying to find ways to learn from their confessions, their tears, and their hurt.

Louis is across the hall, but Harry has memorized the rise and fall of his chest when he sleeps, places where the bed dips when he lays, the feeling of hair tickling his skin.

Louis is so a part of him.

Thinking this lulls Harry to sleep quickly.

 

[_____](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sHXa85SOWtk)

 

Of course Harry would be led here.

Standing in a familiar meadow, the vibrant grass soft under his toes, he slowly feels a cleansing in his body, his soul. The soft push of the breeze leads him to the edge of the cliff, and the horizon is expanded in front of him. The air is sweet, misty with dew, and in front of him, the sliver of a glowing sun peeks over the horizon, spilling hues of pink, lavender, and gold.

Beautiful.

There was no decision of skipping over his mum’s house—this is where he needed to be. This is where his heart is.

He lets out a puff of breath, shoulders sagging as residual tension releases. Louis’ words still echo in his mind.

_“Don’t tell me what I do and don’t deserve. Don’t sacrifice parts of yourself to make me happy and don’t protect me by pushing us further apart.”_

He thinks back to all the times he had told Louis that he was fine and okay and perfectly content, when really, he was dwelling in his own loss. He doesn’t want to push Louis away from him—that’s the opposite of what he wants.  

All he wants is to find himself. But maybe, he thinks, maybe he has let the loss of his past consume him. Maybe all he needs to do is to go searching. He says to himself: _you’re not stuck, Harry._

And then another voice inside his head speaks to him. It’s his mum’s, a snippet from the past: _you’re not stuck, Harry. Everything happens for a reason, doesn’t it? Every single moment that happens to you...it’s all just pieces to a puzzle._ He can see himself sitting in this very spot, laying with his head on his mother’s lap as she tells him lovingly: _All you have to do is step back and see the bigger picture, and when you do, you’ll realize that all these moments are and will always be a part of who you are._

He needs to accept the love that’s been given to him. He needs to accept love from his doting family, his supportive friends, Niall, Liam and Zayn—because yes, they are his friends. And Louis. He needs to accept love from Louis.

And part of accepting love is allowing Louis to see him in his most vulnerable state, to tear down his walls and allow help.

Lastly, he needs to accept love from himself.  

So Harry takes a step back, and he sees a rising sun, appearing like a glowing halo in the watercolor sky.

And it’s like hope. The way the sun rises, the way the horizon stretches in front of him, endless in a blaze of beautiful colors. Beautiful. He needs to stay in the moment, remember it. He closes his eyes and _sees_ :

His meadow—a flowered field that he runs around in, his sister chasing him in giddy laughter.  He sees his mum lying in bed with him and he’s telling her a story. His father is taking him out for ice cream and he’s holding his sister’s hand. There’s a boy, and they’re friends. They laugh, until Harry kisses him. Then he runs away, and it really fucking hurts Harry. He sees piles of journals and inky hands. He sees a guitar and and the hands of a friend. He sees a pinned up article and his proud family gathered around for a picture. He sees a boy, caramel hair and bright eyes, staring at him in wonder, giggling as he slots a finger into one of his curls. He sees birthdays and laughter and loved ones.

Pieces from his past, encapsulating him until he begins to feel it sink in his bones.

Harry opens his eyes and the sun is glowing.

He sees his future. He sees many celebrations with his new friends, spilling laughter and a warm hand held in his. He sees nights laying side by side with the person he loves. He sees a reserved seat in a filled theatre, a bouquet of flowers in one hand as he raises in thundering applause. He sees days and nights filled with the sounds of clicking keys of a keyboard, moments where he’s scribbling in his journal. He sees his family, still as proud of him as ever before. He sees a family of his own, created and loved with his special boy. He sees himself everyday coming home to the same familiar face, the same musical voice, the same dazzling smile and tinkling laughter. Every. Single. Day. Until he’s old and gray.

Harry feels and sees all of this, spreading through him like ink in water, bringing him warmth and...hope. _It’s hope._

How should he move forward? Well it’s kind of a no brainer, isn’t it? After all, Harry Styles is never one to give up.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

When Harry turns he sees _Louis_. Automatically, he’s mesmerized by the way he looks under the burn of the sun. He glows brighter than anything of this earth, and he can’t help but smile. He’s the push and pull of his heart, after all.

“Why?”

“I figured you’d go back home. This is home, isn’t it?”

Of course. Of course Louis would know.

“Kinda wish we could go back here,” he continues, eyes circling the sky above him and back down to the fluttering greenery. “It was easier back then. It was my place to escape.”

Harry interjects. “And for me it was like I was born again. Like, I was blank slate that didn’t know pain. All I knew was you.”

“We had wonderful moments here,” Louis says wistfully. “Makes you want to stay here forever.”

He thinks about this. “If we stayed it wouldn’t really be a moment, though,” Harry says, “It was a sweet moment in our lives. The kind that we’ll always hold on to. I think it’s best to move forward.”

Louis pauses, slowly nodding. “Me too.”

Their eyes meet in a long stare, one that makes Harry’s heart want to burst. It makes him want to run into Louis’ arms and stay there for a while. But the way Louis’ smile fails to reach his eyes stops Harry. Louis’ lips quiver to a small, shaky sigh.

“You were right. And I’m sorry.”

Before Harry can say anything, Louis continues, taking careful steps towards Harry.

“I was blinded. We were both blinded, weren’t we? I found you and I thought that that would be it. We’d have our happy ending and everything in our life was going to be perfect. I guess you thought that too. You must’ve been shocked to wake up and realize the weight of the accident.” Louis sighs. “We just wanted to be happy. You kept your problems from me because that’s what we wanted, and I got caught up in everything good that was happening to me. I didn’t see the hell you were going through. You were in a traumatic car accident, for fuck’s sake. I was moving fast. I should’ve realized that you needed time to heal.”

“Louis—”

They stand toe to toe, close enough that Harry can hear the nervous rise and fall of his chest, the pounding of Louis’ heart. He sniffles before looking at Harry straight in the eye. “Haz, you have done nothing to make me love you less. In fact, I think the only thing I’m meant to do is love you forever. But that’s just me.”

Louis takes a painful breath, like the words he is about to say is hard for him to speak. But Harry knows what he’s going to say, because he knows Louis. He knows how much he loves him, and frankly, Harry would do the same. “I don’t know what you want or what you need. But if it’s time, or if it’s that you’ve realized that maybe you don’t love me the same as you did when we were dreaming then...then you can leave. You have every right to.”

With bated breath, he waits for Harry’s response. He knows the answer can be said in one simple word. But instead, he takes Louis’ hand and he shows him everything.

 _This is where I grew up,_ he tells Louis. He shows him where he would pick the brightest of flowers for his mum and his sister. He shares little nooks and crannies where he would hide when his parents would call him home for dinner. He tells him of times when he’d come here to cry until his mum found him, ready with words of advice. He shows him places where he’d curl up with a book or a journal in hand, _and Louis_ would remind him of places where the two would lie in silence, talking about the other’s day. _Remember when we stargazed in that spot over there?_ Or _remember when I made it snow on my birthday?_ Then Louis begins to point out all times in which Harry couldn’t see him. Memories of him watching Harry run around by himself. _I remember,_ Harry tells him. Even though he couldn’t see it, he felt it. A beating heart, a part of his soul, _waiting for him._

They relive all these memories and moments over and over again until they’re running around, barefoot in the grass. Chasing each other through the flowers and chirping birds, like they’re little boys again, running away from their troubles, until they’re breathlessly caught in one another’s embrace.

Finally, they end by their place under the large oak tree where their names are carved for eternity. Louis’ hand is still in Harry’s; it never left.

He gazes at Louis and says, “Everyday I remember something from before and every day I learn something new. I don’t know much about the future, the same way I don’t know much about my past, but what I’ve always known is you. You’ve always been there, Louis. _Simple, really_.”

Louis blows out a breath, cheeks reddening as Harry’s hand moves to gently tilt his chin up. “I would never leave you, Louis.”

That’s his answer.

And a wave of relief floods Louis, a bright smile eclipsing his face as he grips Harry’s sides, gently pulling him close.

“Can I…” he begins, gaze flitting down to Harry’s lips.

Harry nods fervently, meeting Louis halfway. Their lips slot together perfectly, designed for one another. It’s slow and sweet, but filled with a burning warmth that reaches from his lips to the pit of his belly. This is a kiss, he thinks, as his eyelashes flutter against Louis’ cheek, as his hands clutch at the fabric of his shirt. This is the love that their greatest authors spend their existence writing about. This is undying love, a kiss that carries through lifetime after lifetime

They slowly pull apart, foreheads leaning against the other, breath still sweet on each other’s lips. Harry bites back a huge smile, while Louis’ giggle spills onto his lips. They stay like that for one final moment.

“Can we wake up now?” Louis finally says, softly into his ear.  

Harry nods.

“Let’s wake up.”

 _____

  _"Then seek not, sweet, the "If" and "Why"  
__I love you now until I die.  
__For I must love because I live  
__And life in me is what you give."_

 


	2. Part Two

**Part Two**

 

 _"From this day forward,_  
_You shall not walk alone._  
_My heart will be your shelter,_  
_And my arms will be your home."_

[_____](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4SjHY54BwUc)

  

Harry wakes up wrapped around a warm body, a smile on his lips. His eyes flutter open, and just as expected, Louis is gazing back at him sleepily, lips curling in adoration.

“Did you…” Harry begins in question.

Louis nods.

Harry smirks, a teasing lilt to his voice. “I thought you were going to sleep somewhere else.”

Louis rolls his eyes playfully before burrowing his face into Harry’s chest. “I can’t sleep without you next to me. You know that.”

“Did you mean it?” Harry asks, thinking back to the meadow, a place in their dreams. “All the things you said?”

He knows it’s not even a question, but he says it anyway.

“I did. Did you?”

“Of course. I would never leave you. I promise.”

 

_____

 

In the morning, Harry is alone in the living room, packing the last of what he needs. He straightens his copy of _Great Expectations_ on the coffee table before leaving a messily scrawled note for Niall.

Slinging his duffel bag over his shoulder, he gives the flat one final look. With a pleased sigh, he turns, locking the door behind him.

 

____

 

When his mum answered the door, all it took was one look for them to both burst into tears.

Instantly, she had wrapped him up in her arms, pulling them into the house he grew up in, frantically blathering about starting up some tea while inquiring about the trip over in the way all mothers do.

Now, they are sat in the dining room, hands cupped around steaming mugs with folders and loose paper scattering the table in front of them.

She had went through every medical and police record twice, repeating information that needed to be reiterated. They looked at pictures, from the totaled car to days spent in the hospital. There are pictures of his family decorating the hospital room with balloons on the day of his birthday. _He missed a birthday._ There are photos of his mum sitting patiently by his side, a strained smile towards the camera.

He has to pause every now and then to recollect himself, wetness stinging his eyes.

They power through. His mum tells him how proud she is of him. The moment in time seems lost to Harry. While Harry’s body suffered—while his family suffered—he was caught in a blissful state, rediscovering love.

They’re finally talking about the accident, and it means everything to the both of them. She insists that whenever Harry needs it, she’ll be there to explain everything all over again. _This is what happened, Harry. This is how we felt._

Stuffing all the files back into one crammed binder, she turns to Harry, voice raspy from talking, cheeks streaked with the recollection of painful memories.

“The doctors had said that you may never remember the crash,” she says, “are you glad that you can?”

“I am.” He nods. “I’m glad that I _know._ ”

“What do you remember? Is it clear?” She asks.

“ _Every detail._ Sometimes it comes back when I don’t want it to, but I’m learning to snap out of it. I...I thought that I was dying,” he responds.

“What did you see?” His mum asks tentatively.

“Everything that matters to me.”

A hand curls around his knee, easing him into a comforting warmth.

His mum smiles, noticing the way the room lights up. She mouths a shaky ‘thank you’ and bursts into joyful tears once more.

 

_____

 

_“Hello little brother.”_

Gemma had taken the first train to see Holmes Chapel once she received Harry’s call.

“You’re ready?” She had said on the phone.

He recounted the conversation he had with his mum the day before, and he knows she’s beaming, even if he can’t see her face.

“That’s amazing. I’m so proud of you.”

Now they’re a tangle of limbs on their old couch, wrapped up in a cuddle as if they’re kids again. The fabric of his shirt is wet where Gemma had cried into his chest. It’s been quite awhile since they had seen each other in person, and their phone calls haven’t been all that great.

But today is a new day.

“When you were in the coma, the doctors kept telling me to be prepared. They said that if you woke up, I might not have the same brother,” she mumbles, wiping at her eyes. “I thought, no. _Never_. But when you finally did wake up, I started to believe them.”

“Do you still think that?” Harry asks nervously, fear setting in.

“Of course not. I was dumb to believe it.” She taps a finger to his heart. “Inside, you’re always going to be my little brother—no matter what happens on the outside. Even if you forget sometimes, I still have you. All the memories. I can close my eyes right now, and it’ll feel like we’re ten again.”

“I’m remembering now, and not just remembering, but connecting,” he adds. “It’s starting to feel natural. Not like I’m missing something.”

“I noticed,” Gemma hums. “You’re not so numb anymore. What happened?”

Harry shrugs lamely. “I guess part of me didn’t want to accept all the change. It was strange to be in a coma and have everything be alright, and then wake up realizing that part of you isn’t okay. Time didn’t stop. I hated feeling so behind. I guess I was afraid of moving forward and falling flat on my face. I didn’t want anything to go wrong. I thought staying put and pleasing everyone would get me through.”

“And now?”

“If I want to be better, then I have to look forward, don’t I? I can’t be scared when I’m lucky to have people who are there to guide and support me.”

“Damn straight.”

She ruffles his hair, poking at his sides, causing them both to rupture into giggles. The smell of bacon and eggs wafts into the living room. They can hear the sounds of pots and pans being jostled around along with muffled chatter. It feels so good to be here.

A timer dings.

And something is burning.

_“Erm, breakfast is ready!”_

Gemma turns to Harry, an amused expression on her face. “Should I be concerned?”

“Well usually I do the cooking.”

 

_____

 

_“Son.”_

His father sounds surprised, and the usual warm gruff of his voice sends him back. The bed dips where he sits, phone pressed to his ear.

He’s grown far too big for his childhood room and the glow in the dark bed sheets are certainly outdated, but he likes it. It’s oddly comforting, sitting in this cramped room.

He knows that under his bed is where he has all of his old drawing and stories from when he was a kid, boxed up with worn crayons and other crafts. And he knows that as he grew older and more mischievous, he’d sneak out his window, laying out on his roof to watch the stars move around each other.

It’s all coming back.

“Hello? Harry?”

“Sorry!” Harry shakes his head. “Got caught up looking at everything in my room.”

“Your mum told me you were back home,” he says. “For how long?”

“We’ll see.” There’s a lag in the conversation. He hasn’t seen his dad much since he woke up. He wonders if he even did before the accident. “I’ll come see you next though. I promise.”

“I’d love that. Are you feeling better?”

“Loads.” They lapse into silence until Harry remembers why he had call. “Uh...dad? Something’s been bothering me. I wanted to know—Did I ever forgive you for leaving us and mum?”

His dad pauses before chuckling softly. “You did, Harry. The minute I stepped out. You were always the most understanding.”

“Good,” Harry says. “I don’t really remember much from that time. I needed to make sure.”

“Why?”

“It’s funny—kind of. Getting parts of my memory back. It’s like going through the same emotions again. Even the shitty ones.”

“I’m sorry,” his dad says, genuinely apologetic.

“No, it’s okay,” Harry dismisses. “It’s different when you’re older. You understand. You can’t help it when love runs out. You said that. Even if I can’t remember your relationship breaking apart, I still can understand what you meant by it, now at least.”

“Oh?” His dad voice perks in confusion. “Do you feel it too?”

He hears a pair of footsteps trudging up the stairs. The voice that it carries lets out a peal of laughter, like music to Harry’s ears.

“No,” Harry says, smiling. “That’s why I understand it. Because I know that it could never happen to me.”

 

___

 

Two weeks later, Harry sits in a circle. He’s given up on trying to make himself comfortable in the foldable metal chair. It’s been an hour, it’s never going to happen. He looks around the circle, gaze shifting from one familiar face to the next, all ranging from complete boredom to inspired.

He comes to group counseling three times a week. It’s still very new to him, but the people around him are starting to become like family. They understand each other through different degrees.

“...now as survivors dealing with trauma, it’s crucial to understand the importance of finding motivation, whether it be from something or someone. It’s so important to have support.”

“I feel supported here,” the girl next to him speaks. Emma is her name. She has short black hair. The only survivor of a car collision.

“That’s wonderful.” The head therapist sits right across from Harry, a clipboard in her hand. She has kind eyes, and mousy brown hair that’s pulled into a bun. “What about in your personal life?”

“Well,” Emma begins. “My grandparents are nice. But my friends don’t really know what to do. They don’t know how to deal with me. Sometimes they crowd me and tell me all the things I need to do. Other times, they just kinda give up.”

“I see, Emma. _Harry!_ ” The therapist chimes, meeting Harry’s dazed eyes. “Emma is new to the group. I’m sure you can talk to her about your experience. Would you care to share?”

Surprised, Harry coughs awkwardly, leaning forward in his seat, aware of the dozens of eyes on him. “Um, sure.” He pauses in thought. “I have somebody close to me who is kind of taking the steps with me. They do everything they can to become educated and aware of my situation. They take me to check-ups, help me reconcile my thoughts when I’m at my worst— _I dunno_ —they just do everything they can. But…” His eyes scan every individual in the room, willing them to listen. “They once told me that they know they will never be able to understand what I’m going through completely. That there are parts of myself that only _I_ can fix.”

“So what do they do when they don’t understand?”

“ _He holds my hand._ ” His lips curve into a small smile. “And sometimes that’s all I need. To know that I have him on my team. That he is there to carry me through the dark. Someone to just hold my hand.”

“That’s beautiful, Harry.” The therapist starts a wave of quiet applause, and the rest of his peers nod in approval as they clap. “I believe that’s it for today. I’m pleased with all I have heard today. We’ll see each other next week. Same time, same place.”

The circle disperses in a cacophony of scraping chair and a swell of friendly goodbyes. Harry moves to clean up his area when their therapist stops him with a gentle touch. “ _Harry._ I just wanted to say that we’re so glad that you’ve decided to be a part of this group. It seems like it’s been very helpful to you.”

“It has.” Harry nods, following her out into the hall of the community center. “It wasn’t my idea, but I didn’t realize how much I needed it. I’m just thankful that I gave it a chance.”

She squeezes his shoulder. “Well, you’re lucky to have someone that encourages you.”

“He is _very_ lucky.”

Right on time, Louis arrives with a donut in his hand and car keys in the other. Like every other day, Louis is there to pick him up, to carry him through everything. Just like he had been when he brought him back to Holmes Chapel, pressing his body close to Harry as he dealt with his family. The other half of his soul—always next to him.

The therapist laughs, wishing them both goodbye as she swerves around them.

“Louis,” Harry chastises, gesturing towards the donut.

He shrugs.“ _What?_ They’re free.”

“For the group—”

“— _details_ , Harry.”

Harry sighs fondly, throwing an arm over Louis’ shoulder, guiding them towards the door as Louis stuffs the last of the pastry into his mouth. “I thought we were going to be healthier.”

“Whatever you say, Haz,” he says with a wave of his hand. “How did it go today?”

“The usual,” Harry says. He puffs his chest out smugly. “Talked about you.”

Louis’ eyebrows perk up. “Oh? Good things I hope.”

“Always,” Harry murmurs into his hair, pressing his lips quickly into the top of Louis’ head.

Louis feigns disgust, cheeks reddening as he shrugs Harry’s arm off him. “Stop with the flattery. C’mon then. We have an excited irishman waiting in the car and he’s being too fucking demanding.”

“You love him and you’re going to miss him,” Harry says, poking Louis’ side.

He scoffs, folding his arms in disagreement. Until, after a couple more ticklish prodding from Harry, he relents. “ _Fine._ You know me too well. Let’s go.”

And as always, he takes Harry’s hand.

 

_____

 

“What the fuck are you doing, Niall?”

In the middle of the airport terminal, Harry, Louis, Liam, and Zayn watch as Niall spins in a circle, eyes wide with anticipation.

“Trying to see if there are any members of the AcaSquad here,” he mumbles as he uncomfortably cranes his neck, standing on the tips of his toes.

Zayn groans, eyes to the ceiling. “ _Nothing_ is going to happen, Ni. Let it go.”

Niall’s elbow digs into Harry. “Hear that? That is the sound of my dreams shattering.”

“Was it really that amazing?” Harry asks, biting back laughter as Liam comforts an embarrassed Zayn.

“The most beautiful thing in the word,” Niall chimes. “You had to be there, Harry.”

Harry shrugs, giving the circle the best nonchalant expression he can come up with. “ _I’m sorry._ I was in a coma.”

First Liam snorts, and upon doing so, he quickly covers his mouth, gasping with wide eyes, unsure if he’s allowed to be laughing. Meanwhile, Niall’s face turns a bright pink as Zayn chews on his lips nervously.

Harry’s eyes find Louis’, his cheeks are sucked in and his eyes are squinting up at Harry. They both try to hold it in, until Louis relents, shoulders sagging.

“How inconvenient of you,” Louis manages to say before they’re both giggling, leaning against eachother.

It’s like a domino effect after that. Niall lets out the breath that he was holding, stabling himself with hands on his knees, howling with laughter. Zayn pokes Liam’s side until they’re both rupturing into their own hysterics.

They’re a crazy bunch. They gain wary looks from fellow travelers, but they don’t care. Summer is over, and one of their own is leaving them.

Finally, they compose themselves. Niall wipes away a single tear, cheeks flushed with joy.

“Well, on that note. Boys, I think it’s time we say goodbye,” he says, hiking up the duffle bag on his shoulder. His smile is as big and bright as usual, but his eyes are hiding some kind of sadness as he takes in their circle.

Next to him, Louis stiffens. His slight pout goes unnoticed by Harry, so he takes his hand.

“It’s been a crazy fucking year,” Niall continues with a low whistle. “Tomorrow marks the start of it all.”

“The start of it all?” Liam asks.

“It was our first day of class last year!” Niall’s voice goes high-pitched, seemingly affronted by Liam’s question. Niall’s strikingly blue, usually playful, eyes meet Harry’s. They’re soft, swelling with sentiment.

Niall is right. Tomorrow will be the anniversary. It’ll be a year since the accident, a year since all the pain and obstacles and pure love began. A full year since he saw Louis, the two of them, standing in heavenly white.

“I can’t believe it,” Louis murmurs under his breath, gripping onto Harry tighter.

“But everything that’s happened,” Niall says, “It’s all meant to be, right? The five of us. We’ve always been connected—and now we’re here.”

 _All of us?_ Harry thinks.

Niall reads his mind, pointing a finger at him. “Yes, Harry. You too. Don’t forget, we were all supposed to meet that day. We were always meant to be friends.”

He’s positively beaming, heart teeming with affection for Niall—for all four of the boys. In a matter of seconds, he finds himself being pulled into a bone crushing hug. Somewhere in the circle, Louis is wailing dramatically over Niall’s impending departure, and something Liam says causes Niall to cackle until he accidentally headbutts Zayn, causing Harry to topple over as Zayn attempts to hit Niall back.

They are in their own universe, traveling their own personal orbit.

“Niall has minutes, people!” Liam finally screeches over the chaos.

“He’s right,” Niall huffs, straightening his belongings as they struggle to find breath again. “Goodbyes.”

Their space washes with silent despondency.

“Oh, come on,” Niall says. “Cheer up, you guys. Smile! What’s that one song?” He sings loudly, “ _Keep on smilin’ and the whole world smiles with yoooou!_ ”

Harry smiles, big and bright. For a second, he is taken back to his childhood, to the sound of his mother's sweet voice. _Keep on smiling..._

Niall says goodbye to each of them, one by one; special, thought out words delivered for every individual. He says something to Zayn that causes laughter to escape from his lips. He smacks a loud kiss on a surprised Zayn’s cheek. Liam pulls Niall off of Zayn, scrubbing at his cheeks until Niall gives him his own goodbye. Whatever Niall mutters to Liam softens his expression, eyes crinkling at the corners with a toothy smile.

Then he comes to Harry. When he does, he lets out a long sigh. Right on cue, Niall reaches his hands out, cupping Harry’s cheeks.

“What?” Harry grins.

 _You’re fuckin’ real_ , he expects him to say. But he doesn’t. He lets his hands drop.

“Nothing...just.” He shrugs sheepishly. “Thanks for coming into our lives. I don’t think you understand, but you’ve brought all of us closer together. Certain things wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t for you.”

Harry rests his hand on Niall’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Thanks, Niall.”

Niall’s eyes dart from Louis, whose gaze is stuck on the ground, then back to Harry. “Take care of eachother. Have fun. Keep the house clean and _stay out of my room_.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replies guiltily, as Niall pulls away from their hug.

Finally, he reaches Louis. It takes awhile for him to meet Niall’s patient expression. When their eyes meet, in a flash, they barrel into each other. Feeling obligated, Harry, Liam, and Zayn avert their eyes from the trembling mass, ignoring the sounds of their muffled tears.

Harry hears a million of _thank you’s_ and _I’ll miss you’s_ and _jesus fucking christ_ over and over again. Until Louis does them both a favor by pulling away, hastily wiping at his stained cheeks.

“Remember,” Louis sniffles. “If you ever need to be wired money, you can always call Liam.”

_“Hey!”_

Niall sucks in a breath. “Got it.” He turns to where the line for security forms, the threshold for passengers only. “I should probably get in line. Um...so bye, guys.”

He manages a weak wave, a trying smile, before turning to exit. He finds Louis’ body squeezing closely next to him for support. He’s surprised by the way his heart hurts too.

Niall spins over his shoulder, granting them one last look. He calls out, “I’ll be okay! It’s just for one year, lads!”

They nod, gesturing for Niall to follow the crowd. Niall had only made that final gesture to reassure himself, anyway. So he turns, and they watch as bright blonde hair disappears into the traveling mass.

It’s just for one year, he says.

But they all know that a lot can happen in a year.

 

____

 

 _“Queen Gemma!”_ Harry cries gleefully, one hand pressed to his ear with his phone, while the other balances four cups of coffee tucked into a cardboard holder.

“Hello little brother,” she says, pleased by the way Harry greets her. “Just calling to check up on you and Louis. Did your friend make it on his flight?”  

“It was a struggle, but he did,” Harry answers.

Next to him, Liam attempts to balance all of their purchases from the closest kiosk—shitty airport food, a proper lunch.

“Big day tomorrow,” Gemma continues. “Back to school for you and all that. Excited?”

“I am now. Nervous, but I think I can do it,” he mutters as someone bumps into him. “Sorry. Gem, I have to hang up. It’s rather busy in here.”

Gemma sighs. “Fine. But call me after your first day. I want to hear about it.”

“Of course. Love you.”

“Love you back.”

As soon as she hangs up, Liam grumbles to him. “Get used to this, Harry. I’ve been picking up lunch for the boys for the past four years.”

“Get used to it?” Harry gasps. “It’s like you’re giving me no choice, Liam. You’re already claiming this as my job too.”

“Shit. I mean, well…”

“I’d be honored,” Harry interjects. A pleased smile passes between the two just as the entrance slides open, revealing Zayn and Louis, a curl of smoke dancing from a cigarette between their lips.

"Bad for you!" Harry sings, flicking Louis’ cigarette onto the floor.

He raises a brow at Harry, before chuckling to himself. Louis grinds the thrown cigarette into the pavement with the toe of his shoe. "Whatever you say."

Amazed, Liam turns from Harry and Louis. Eyeing Zayn’s lip, he repeats with less fervor, “Bad for you!” and flicks the cigarette out of his mouth.

Zayn gapes at him, before bending onto the ground in hopes of salvaging his smoke. “Liam, you prick,” he whines.

Harry lets out a chuckle when Liam sighs with defeat, handing a saran wrapped sandwich to a smug Louis. “They ran out of ham, so I got you egg salad.” Moments like this blow Harry away some days. Louis used to share little bits of his day whenever Harry was stuck in his dreams, simple moments like this. And now, Harry takes part in them. “I guess Niall was right. You two are the power couple.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Zayn pouts.

“You could never,” Liam rolls his eyes, taking his hand. “We oughta get going. We’ll come by for dinner or something.”

Harry watches them leave, reveling in the fact that this is his life. Everything is beginning to feel natural to him.

“Let’s go, love?”

Louis jingle his keys at him, beckoning to the car park.

“I’ll drive.”

The words come out of Harry’s mouth quickly, before he can even finish thinking. It comes so fast that even Louis reels backwards in shock.

“Harry…”

“Let’s try again, at least.”

“Are you sure?” Louis asks hesitantly. He lightly places the keys into Harry’s palms, letting his hand rest there for a beat. “Last time didn’t go so well.”

Louis had let Harry drive on their way back from Harry’s house. They barely made it out of the village. He had to guide Harry to the side of road so he could find his breath. But he thinks, now, he can go farther. He just needs practice.

“What if it happens again?” Louis continues, darting nervously between where their hands touch and Harry’s eyes.

“Then you’ll be my wheel,” he murmurs with a wink. He laces their fingers together, and moves forward.

 

[***](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nX30Sgchc20)

 

Sixteen year old Harry trembles as he clutches at the ledge of the cliff, body racking with dry sobs. He thinks he’s run out of tears. He’s cried so much today, and he did it all to himself.

A week ago, he had no tears to shed. He should’ve kept quiet. He should’ve been smarter. Life was beautifully content until he fucked it up. _Until he kissed his best friend._ His best friend that’s a _boy_.

Fuck.

He should’ve just kept being whatever he needed him to be.

“Harry?”

It’s his mum, always on cue. He feels her weight next to him, and suddenly, he’s engulfed by two warm arms. He breaks down.

“It’s okay, love,” she murmurs. The steady beat of her heart stables Harry, calming him until he’s no longer shaking.

“What is going on?” She asks when he settles down, head resting on her chest.

 _Just say it_ , he tells himself. _It’s caught in your throat. Just say it before you explode._ There’s nothing left to lose.

“I kissed someone a few days ago. My first kiss,” he chokes out. She hums in response, coaxing him to continue. _A first kiss_ , she’s probably thinking, _what’s the harm in that?_

“I kissed my best friend.” And she knows in an instant what this means. He only really has—had—one good friend. “I kissed him.”

“I’m guessing he didn’t take it well?” She asks, pressing a kiss to Harry’s hair. “Oh Harry…”

“No,” he breathes out, biting back a sob. “He pushed me back. He was angry and told me to never look at him again.”

“I’m so—”

“And I just found out that he’s transferring schools,” he cuts in, a fresh wave of tears shake him. His head falls to her lap, burrowing himself in her embrace as he shakes. “I wish it never happened. I just feel stuck now.”

“You’re not stuck, Harry,” she says, voice sweet and light. “Everything happens for a reason, doesn’t it? Every single moment that happens to you...it’s all just pieces to a puzzle.  All you have to do is step back and see the bigger picture, and when you do, you’ll realize that all these moments are and will always be a part of who you are.”

His mum attempts to shush him, rubbing soothing circles into his back, murmuring words of affection over and over again.

“W-wait,” he stammers, “why aren’t _you_ pushing me back?”

“Harry!” She cries in astonishment. She only grips him tighter.

“A _boy_ , mum. I kissed a boy. That means—”

“That doesn’t matter!” She continues, fixed with a purpose. “Do you really think I would care?”

“He did.”

“He’s wrong.” She sighs. “Harry Styles, I loved you before I could even hold you in my arms. Who you love will never change that. Love is a simple power, and the fact that we have the ability to do so should be enough for everyone else.”

“Then why do I feel like I need to hide?” Harry asks. “I don’t want the people that I care about to leave me like that again.”

“I won’t leave you. Gemma won’t and neither would your dad,” she says. “Do what makes you feel safe and comfortable, but know that you shouldn’t have to pretend. There’s a world out there that supports you, and those who don’t, don’t matter. Okay?”

He shakes his head. “I...I dunno.”

“Harry.” His mum gently tilts his chin up, a determined look in her eyes. “Someday, someone is going to love you more than you could have ever thought possible. He will love you fiercely and accept you for all that you are. There will be no hiding, Harry. All you have to do is find each other.”

He nods slowly, even if he doesn’t believe it just yet. They sit in silence, his mum carding delicate fingers through his hair as he attempts to quiet his thoughts.

“The sun is coming down,” she says softly. “Are you ready to come back home now?”

He shakes his head. “I’d like to be alone for a bit, actually. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” she lifts herself up. “Dinner should be ready in an hour. Just be home by then, okay?”

“Thanks mum. I mean it.” He looks up at her, and she nods in a way that says _of course_. Humble, like a superhero.

When her footsteps grow distant, Harry stands up, his limbs feeling wobbly under his weight. His mum’s words are kind of like healing magic. His chest feels lighter as he looks out into the sky, watching as the sun turns into a blazing sliver of deep red, leaving a trail of dark, fiery colors as it goes.

He shouldn’t have to hide his love.

Harry imagines a time when he’s free, free to love and to be himself. He thinks of the kind of love his mum described. Someone who will love Harry in every possible way. The hopeful thought is promising, glowing in his heart.

“ _Come find me_ ,” he whispers, and he hopes the wind carries it throughout the world. He hopes the world projects it loud and proud, traveling until it reaches the person that matters.

He hopes his voice finds its way.

 

_____

 

Harry closes his journal, stretching the cramp in his fingers. He’s surprised to see the sun casting a beam of warmth onto the newly-filled journal. Had he really been writing that long? He had woken up when the moon was still out, fueled with an urge to write and write and write. He had put ink to blank paper, and for the first time in a long time, he couldn’t stop.

“ _‘Arry, whatthefok_.” A muffled voice causes Harry to turn in his chair, watching with a bemused expression as Louis struggles to sit up in bed. He rubs at the mess of hair on his head. “Why are you awake?”

“Felt like writing,” he says, beckoning to their messy desk.

“That’s wonderful,” Louis mumbles. “But I’m cold.”

“Poor you. What should we do?”

“Don’t be a tease.”

“Fine,” Harry smirks. He gets up on their chair—very questionable as he is a walking hazard to everyone around him—and launches himself onto the bed.

“Harry, what are you— _FUCK!_ ”

The force of Harry’s landing lifts Louis up for a second until he comes crashing down. Before he can reach for a pillow to smack Harry with, Harry expertly worms his way into Louis’ arms, fitting perfectly into his embrace.

“You’re a little shit. I miss Niall,” he grimaces. “He would never do this to me. When will he return to us?”

“One, that’s a lie,” Harry starts, “And two, I miss him as well. I can’t wait till he comes back. It will be the three of us again, like a proper family. Me, you, and our son, Niall.”

Louis dreamily sighs. “What are you writing, then?”

“A new story.”

“About?”

“You’ll see.”

Louis pouts. “Fine. It’s about me. I know it is.”

“You tell yourself that,” Harry says, reaching up to pat Louis’ cheek.

Louis playfully swats his hand away, and the way he gazes down at Harry causes his heart to bloom with affection, unfurling through every fiber of his being.

“You’re very important to me, Lou.” Louis blinks at him, slightly surprised by Harry’s outburst. “You are! You’re my other half. I was thinking about it earlier, looking at the bigger picture, and it all makes sense, really.”

“Go on.”

“You saw me when you really needed someone to be there for you. And I kept asking for someone like you, and even though I didn’t know it, you were there. Then I saw you in my own dreams when I really needed it,” he explains.

“Then life really sucked for awhile and we never saw each other again,” Louis adds. “We were too busy dealing with our own shit. We weren’t ready.”

“We weren’t ready,” Harry agrees. “And all these pieces kept pulling us closer and closer together. Then the accident happened, and of course I would see you. That’s kind of what souls do, huh? Fate either pushes or pulls, but in the end they find a way to each other, even through darkness.”

“My other half,” Louis says, nuzzling closer to Harry.

“I needed you and I got you.”

They’ve suffered for so long, they deserve to be happy.

When he looks up, Louis is beaming at him. “The world really loves you, Harry.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “The world really loves us.”

The smile that they reserve for one another is radiant, bouncing back between the two. It takes strength for one to break first.

“ _So_ ,” Louis says, “I’ve been thinking. My contract with Simon only last for one theatre season, and you’ll be graduated by the time it ends. I was thinking of taking the summer season off. Maybe we can do some traveling of our own. You can write and I can relax. We could even meet up with Niall! I dunno, it’d be nice.”

“Lou,” Harry tips his head back in surprise, taking in the way Louis looks at him with anticipation, waiting for his answer. Louis is so talented, the rest of his company would think him foolish to skip out on possible roles. “But acting is your dream.”

“No.” Louis shakes his head, shuffling so that he and Harry lay face to face, curled into one another. _“You are.”_

Later they will move together, skin against skin, heart to heart. They will lift their names up through ardored kisses and longing touches. Their fingers will ghost along every part of the other’s body, murmuring softly, bridled with unwavering amazement: I get to _hold_ you like this, _touch_ you like this, and _kiss_ you like this. Over and over again until they lie still next to one another, breathing the same breath. They will think to themselves: _how can I love anyone more than how I love the man that's next to me?_ Answer: _I can’t_.

And when Louis is the first to fall asleep, Harry will quietly make his way to their desk. With a pen in his hand, he’ll start from page one:

_Once there was boy, radiant and full of hope, who thought that if he was kind to the world, the world would be kind back..._

_____

  _“Somewhere there waiteth in this world of ours  
__For one lone soul another lonely soul,  
__Each choosing each through all the weary hours,  
__And meeting strangely at one sudden goal,  
__Then blend they, like green leaves with golden flowers,  
__Into one beautiful and perfect whole;  
__And life's long night is ended, and the way  
__Lies open onward to eternal day.”_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comment, kudos, or rec it ralph if you'd like.  
> It means so much! xx 
> 
> tumblr master post is [here](http://tommothetrain.tumblr.com/post/120454565660/the-other-half-avatarlahey-a-sequel-to-closer)  
> say [hi](http://www.tommothetrain.tumblr.com) if you'd like!


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